


A Perfectly Unexpected Christmas

by Noxbait



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Christmas, Gen, John Winchester - Freeform, Pre-Series, Supernatural - Freeform, Weechesters, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-09-21 14:17:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17045270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noxbait/pseuds/Noxbait
Summary: Pre-series. They could have been relaxing in Florida for Christmas. Instead, they're battling bad weather, heading to a hunt. Sam had long ago given up hope for any kind of Christmas at all. Dean still liked to imagine having a Christmas that was picture perfect like all the greeting cards. When the unexpected happens, survival becomes far more important than Christmas. Or does it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Merry almost-Christmas! I can't believe we're a week away! Over the course of NaNoWriMo this year, I started three different stories, each intended to be a Christmas story. This is the one that came out the victor. :) The other two will be posted sometime in the new year without Christmas connections. Life has been insanely busy with family and Christmas prep and I have been squeezing out every precious second I have in order to write and edit. I really wasn't sure I'd be able to get this one posted, but things are coming together. :)
> 
> The story will be around 7-8 chapters or thereabouts. Not exactly sure what the posting schedule will be, but at least the ball is rolling!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_"Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before! What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. '_   _What if Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!"_

_― Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas!_

**_ A Perfectly Unexpected Christmas _ **

"So this lake," Dean said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and watching the snowflakes tumble from the sky. "There's a haunted island? In the middle of the lake?"

"Generally, islands are found in the middle of lakes or other bodies of water," Sam answered, nose buried in his book as he ignored the picture perfect scenery around them.

"I  _know_ that." Dean rolled his eyes. He knew all of it actually, but it had been a long drive and he was bored to tears. Annoying his sixteen year old brother into talking to him was the closest thing to amusement that he had at the moment. "What kind of haunting are we talking here?"

"Probably a dead person." Sam turned a page in his book as he ignored Dean's attempts to start a conversation.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Dean muttered, returning his attention to the road ahead.

This trip was turning out to be a real drag. For one thing, they were driving to some cold New England town in the dead of winter and leaving sunny Florida behind. For another thing, he couldn't even pronounce the name of the lake.

_Forty-five letters and fourteen syllables,_ Sam had informed him when Dean's jaw had dropped at the word written on the map.

Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg.

Of  _course_ Sam could pronounce it. He probably could even spell it. He knew the meaning of the word and the historical significance — things Dean now knew, too, without ever really wanting to. Sam probably even knew the name of the guy who first went fishing in the lake.

Glaring at his brother, Dean cultivated his annoyance.

Sam had been ignoring him for most of the trip. Sure, he'd answer questions if Dean prodded long enough, but otherwise, he had his nose stuck in the book. It wasn't even a school book. Just some big fat novel. Dean never knew where Sam found the books he toted along with him. They'd just appear one day and he'd spend a ridiculous amount of time reading, and then the book would disappear. A few days or weeks would pass, then he'd have a new book in his hands.

Usually, Dean managed to speed read through the books before they disappeared. It wasn't always easy; he had an image to keep up so he'd read at odd times. While Sam was in the shower. While he was at school. After he fell asleep for the night. Sometimes Dean even sat outside in the Impala reading by flashlight when both Sam  _and_ Dad were asleep.

It wasn't that he  _had_ to be so sneaky. Sam would have gladly let him read the books. Somehow, though, it seemed important to keep it a secret.

So far he hadn't managed to get his hands on this one. Whatever it was, Sam was engrossed. When Sam was engrossed it meant the car was quiet and Dean could listen to his music — as long as he didn't turn it up too loud. He could enjoy the scenery and get lost in his own thoughts.

Sometimes that was great, but sometimes it was lonely sitting right next to someone who wasn't paying any attention to anything but their book.

"Sammy," Dean said, flipping on the windshield wipers when the snow began getting heavier.

"What?" Sam didn't look up.

How he managed to read and never get carsick, Dean didn't know.

"Did you find any place good to eat on the way to Lake Charcoal-groggy-mugwort?"

Sam snorted. "That's not how you say it."

"Charlie-goggy-manchurian-gogga—"

"Just stop."

Dean grinned. At least Sam had finally looked up from his book. Looked up and was now looking all around, eyes wide.

"It's snowing!"

"That's generally what happens when it's winter in New York." Dean grinned, watching Sam straighten up in his seat and continue staring out the windows at the flurries. Clearly Sam hadn't looked out the window for the past two hours. "Dude, you're acting like it's the first time you've ever seen snow."

Sam shook his head, but didn't stop looking around like it was the first time he'd ever seen snow.

It was a beautiful sight, Dean had to admit. He always liked the image all the Christmas cards presented: a pretty small town dusted in snow with holly and green wreaths. A panorama of snow topped pine trees on rolling hills. It was the cozy, ideal, perfect Christmas that he'd always envisioned.

One that he'd never experienced and doubted he ever would.

It used to make him feel sad, but now he just liked imagining what something like that would feel like. A quiet Christmas in a quiet town. Snow falling. Carolers singing. A fireplace warming the room. Hot chocolate and presents in front of a Christmas tree. He could dream as big as he wanted. That's what dreams were for, anyway.

Now wasn't the time for his little fantasy though. He was hungry. Reaching out, he thumped Sam's shoulder.

"I asked you like forty minutes ago to find someplace to eat. We still have hours until we get to Lake Chimichanga."

This time he got a snort and then a genuine laugh.

Grinning, Dean said, "Now I'm hungry for tacos."

Sam's stomach growled right at that moment.

"I guess we're having tacos, huh?" Dean asked.

"Tacos work for me." Sam reached for the map he always kept meticulously folded. He figured out directions to the nearest decent sized town, then went back to observing the snowfall.

Dean thought about continuing a conversation, then decided against it. It was still quiet in the car, but since they were both enjoying the beauty outside, he didn't feel quite as lonely.

* * *

 

Sam watched his brother flirting with the waitress. She was pretty and friendly and wearing a red Santa hat that coordinated well with the festive decorations. The cozy Mexican restaurant they'd found was clearly ready for Christmas.

While everyone else in the restaurant seemed to be in an appropriately festive mood, Sam wasn't.

In fact, he was beginning to feel the exact opposite of festive.

The snow had been beautiful and he was glad to be out of Florida, but all the over the top Christmas decorations were making him wish they'd never stopped. The tacos were amazing, but he wasn't in the least bit interested in Christmas trees or reindeer or carols or bright lights.

Dean would call him a Grinch if he said anything, so he pasted on a smile when the waitress smiled at him and he made all the correct responses when she talked about how much she loved this time of year.

Dean was, of course, in full agreement with her.

He would have been in full agreement with her even if she'd been saying how much she loved knitting blankets. Sam returned his attention to his taco and tried to ignore his brother's shameless flirting.

It was a week before Christmas and they were on their way to hunt a ghost on an island. A ghost that hadn't bothered anyone except one unfortunate boater who got freaked out enough to talk to the local newspaper. It was two days before Christmas and they would probably have this wrapped up by the day  _after_ Christmas and be back on the road to who knew where. It wasn't like he cared about Christmas anymore; he'd long given up hoping for a perfect Christmas complete with trees and presents and a happy family. Even so, he hated spending his entire winter break driving all over creation. He'd been looking forward to just spending a couple weeks doing what most kids did on their winter vacations.

Relaxing.

He was still tired from studying for finals and trying to figure out everything Dad had wanted to know about Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg. He'd passed his classes with straight A's, not that Dad had asked or cared. All he'd cared about had been getting all the information on the history of the Lake. Sam had provided him with the information and Dad had ordered them on their way with a promise to meet them in Massachusetts after he finished up the hunt he was on in Ohio.

_So much for Christmas._

"You want another taco?" Dean asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"No." Sam shook his head, glancing from his now empty plate to his brother.

Dean was counting out his cash for the bill and the waitress was nowhere in sight. He didn't look up as he said, "Go to the bathroom if you need to because I'm not stopping again until we get to Lake Chuggy-gug-a-muck."

Sam rolled his eyes at the latest way his brother had found to slaughter the name of the Lake and stood up. Dean meant what he said; he hated making unnecessary stops. He was almost as obsessively focused as Dad was, but not quite. If Sam asked, he'd stop. For whatever reason. Counting his lucky stars once again that Dad had given Dean the Impala and they weren't all stuck in a car together, Sam headed for the bathroom.

A few minutes later, they were on the road again. A road that was getting snowier and snowier by the second.

"Man, it's really coming down hard, isn't it?" Dean asked as he tested the brakes out on the slick street while no one was behind them. He flipped the windshield wipers on again. "Turn on the radio. See if you can get a weather report."

Sam leaned forward and did as instructed. He'd intended to go straight back to his book and lose himself from real life for a little longer, but maybe he'd have to hold off for a while. At least until they got past the worst of the snow. And then they listened to the weather report. The book was  _definitely_ going to have to wait.

"Crap," Dean muttered after they heard the snow was only expected to get worse as the afternoon progressed. Whiteout conditions were predicted by evening.

"Should we stop?" Sam asked, not too keen on the idea of driving through a major winter storm.

"No. Dad's gonna expect us—"

"He's probably going to be stuck, too. The storm was from Illinois to the coast."

Dean met his gaze briefly, then said, "We'll make it. It's only a few hours."

It was the truth, but it was a couple hours on really slick streets with ever worsening visibility. Sam sat back in his seat, tension starting to climb up his spine. He hated when they had to drive in bad weather; whether it be rain or snow. The sensation of hydroplaning was one that he did not enjoy. At all.

"Dude, already?"

Sam frowned and tore his gaze from the snowy street ahead to look at his brother. "Already what?"

"Already you're freaking out about the snow."

"I am not."

"Yeah. You are. I've known you for sixteen years, moron. I know when you're freaking out." Dean was laughing at him now. He turned the volume up as the radio started playing Christmas music as if that would help anything and said, "I can handle a little snow, Sammy."

"It's  _Sam,_ " he said, slouching in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. "And it's not a little snow. It's a lot of snow."

"Eh. We've driven through worse."

Dean then proceeded to discuss all the times they'd driven through worse including the time they'd wound up half-slid into a shallow ditch. It had been years ago, and Dad had been driving, but it had been scary. Probably wouldn't seem so scary now, of course; he'd only been nine at the time, so it had probably seemed scarier than it really was.

Sam tried to listen to what Dean was saying and believe him when he said that he wasn't going to wind up spinning out on the slick streets. He trusted his brother with his life, but he didn't trust the weather. Or the road. Or their luck. Or the other drivers. Or the deer. Or anything else for that matter.

"Just read your book," Dean said, tapping him on the chest with it. "Flashlight's in the glove compartment. Zone out for awhile."

Sam hated being bossed around, but in this case, he decided maybe it was just as well. So he took the novel from his brother, grabbed the flashlight, and slouched further in the seat, trying to make the page in front of him the only thing he could see. It was early afternoon, but already the flashlight was necessary.

He turned it on and tried really hard to ignore the sloshing of the tires through the slushy muck and the way the car didn't seem completely secure anymore.

He really, really missed Florida.

* * *

 

Dean really missed Florida.

Like  _really_ missed Florida.

They'd only been on the road for twenty minutes after their Mexican themed lunch and already his hands were sore from how hard he was clutching the steering wheel. Every once in awhile he managed to relax, but then the wind would toss a massive flurry of snowflakes in his view and the tires would slip a little.

He tried to casually shake out his left hand without letting Sam see what he was doing. Despite Sam's insistence to the contrary, Dean knew his brother was freaking out. Or nervous at the very least. He'd kept his nose buried in the book since Dean had urged him to start reading again. So he wasn't flat out freaked. Yet. Dean wasn't freaked yet either but he did  _not_ like the weather.

The Impala was a dream, but she was not made for driving through blizzards.

He slowed down when he saw a flash of red tail lights ahead. He'd already been driving under the speed limit and was now going even slower, but he didn't care. Visibility had been spotty and everyone else was driving slowly, too. He wasn't going to stop unless he absolutely had to, but also wasn't prepared to take chances he shouldn't.

The Christmas music on the radio provided a suitable soundtrack and he would have appreciated it much more had he been sitting inside a warm cabin with a hot chocolate. Sitting behind the wheel and trying to drive through the snowy mess was not his idea of a good time.

The music paused for yet another weather report.

The report didn't add much to what they already knew.

The weather sucked and it wasn't going to get any better.

Another twenty minutes and the heavy flurries had petered out a bit although the road was still slick and mucky and everyone was driving half the speed limit. They were still on the main highway which Dean didn't like at all. Too busy on a normal day, he didn't trust any of the drivers around them. The snowplows were just beginning to make their appearance which only complicated the driving conditions.

He just had to make it to the turn off to the county road that would take them to their destination. Surely there would be a motel they could hole up in for the duration of the storm if it got too bad for him to keep driving. He knew his limits and he wasn't about to take chances.

Not with his car and not with his brother's life.

Coming up on a minivan that was going so slowly it was practically going backwards, Dean turned on his signal and got into the left lane. The car fishtailed a little and that was when Sam's book went back on the seat and he sat up, grabbing at the door.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Dean asked, annoyance sparking. "I'm passing that idiot who's practically parking on the road."

"Slow down!"

"Sam, I'm barely driving at all! If I slow down—"

"Just do it!"

Dean gritted his teeth and slowed down. He was still moving faster than the cars in the right lane. The strains of Christmas music filled the car; a discordant background noise to the storm outside. Dean wanted the music off and he figured Sam did too, but neither of them reached for the dial.

"Maybe we should find a place to stay."

Dean took a split second to glance at his brother. Sam was gripping the edge of the seat and the edge of the door like his life depended on it. Dean returned his attention to the road.

"Dean?"

"Sam, stop freaking out." Dean's fingers ached as he tightened them on the wheel. "You're making me nervous."

Sam didn't say anything else and neither did Dean.

The snow was alternating between heavy, fat flakes, and a lighter swirl of precipitation. Sometimes the visibility wasn't too bad, other times it was almost a complete white-out.

In the background, Frank Sinatra was dreaming of white Christmases and all Dean wanted was to be back in Florida.

He glanced at the speedometer. He was going thirty miles per hour. On a freeway. This was ridiculous and yet he couldn't very well push the pedal to the floor. Even if he was feeling more confident about driving through the snowstorm, there was the little issue of the multitude of people who definitely didn't feel confident. Still in the left lane, he carefully passed car after car barely making twenty miles per hour.

Dean watched in shock as a semi truck traveling the opposite direction on the far side of the highway suddenly jackknifed into the median. It was nowhere near close enough to cause them any harm, but it had him slowing even more and sucking in a deep breath.

He was surprised not to have heard any sounds of shock or fear from the passenger seat, but when he stole a quick glance, he understood why. Sam's gaze was focused to the right on the cars they were slowly passing.

Glancing in the rear view mirror, Dean saw nothing but red flashes as cars on the other side of the highway slammed on their brakes. The semi hadn't flipped over or anything and he assumed the driver would be fine. All he could do was hope that the other cars were going to manage to avoid winding up in a mile long fender bender.

The car was fishtailing more frequently and he was surprised Sam hadn't piped up again.

Dean clenched his jaw and inched past a few more cars. He was catching up on the car in front of them and that wasn't good because he was going to get hit with a mucky backsplash. He needed to get back in the right lane. Their exit was coming up soon and he wasn't about to miss it.

He gently tapped the brakes before he ran into the car ahead. It wasn't his first experience driving on slick roads, so he knew better than to slam on the brakes.

After a few more miles the traffic had thinned out considerably and, he was able to ease back into the right lane.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"The next exit is the one we need."

"Ok. Find the closest town." Dean slowed well ahead of the exit. "At this rate, we're not going to make it to Lake Chacha any time this century. We'll stop somewhere for the night."

"Ok," Sam said quickly, not bothering to correct Dean about the name of the Lake. At least he was relaxing a little and settling back in the seat as he peered at the map.

Dean turned down the windshield wipers as the snowfall grew a little lighter.

"Do you think we should call Dad?" Sam asked after Dean had safely made the turn off onto the two lane county road.

"Yeah." Dean nodded.

He dreaded having to call Dad and explain that they were going to be late getting to their destination. Dad expected them to go where he sent them and to do it on schedule. It was Dean's responsibility to make sure that happened, weather or no weather. He should have checked before they left Florida. Should have known the snowstorm was coming and planned better. It was too late to do any adjusting, now, though. All he could do was try to keep the car on the road until he found a place for them to stay the night.

Dad wouldn't be happy, but Dean could deal with that later. They were only a couple hours from Lake Charkamug-whatever. If the snowstorm dissipated over night and they got an early enough start, they could make it there by mid-morning easy. It would have to do.

"I can't get a signal," Sam said, after a few silent minutes.

"Try my phone."

Sam took the phone and dialed. He tried a few times, then said, "It's not going through."

"Probably the weather."

"Do you think he's ok?" Sam braced his hand on the dashboard when Dean put his foot on the break a little harder than he'd meant to.

"He's fine. He's got the truck and he's a good driver."

"I know."

"Ok then. How about you just go back to your book?" Out of the corner of his eye he caught Sam shaking his head.

"I can't concentrate on it right now."

Dean couldn't blame him.

Instead of the book, Sam went back to studying the map.

For the next thirty minutes, the only sound in the car was random Christmas music playing. The road wasn't any better than the highway had been, but at least he didn't have to deal with a bunch of other drivers. Despite the lighter traffic and lessening snow, Dean's tension and fatigue continued to increase.

"It's letting up," Sam echoed his thoughts, sounding a whole lot more relaxed than he had in the past hour.

"Yeah." Dean shook out his right hand. "It's about time."

"No kidding. That sucked." Sam grabbed his book and turned on the flashlight. "You think Dad's stuck somewhere?"

"Probably."

"You think he's ok?"

"Yes." Dean glanced at his brother. Sam was staring out the window, the flashlight shining down at his open book. "Hey, Dad's fine.

"I know."

It didn't sound like Sam really believed him, but Dean was going to leave the topic alone. They spent too much of their time wondering if Dad was ok; if this would be the time Dad wouldn't come home to them after a hunt. No sense borrowing trouble.

So Dean turned the volume up on the Christmas music and Sam pointed the flashlight at the pages of his book and started reading again. The fact that Sam was relaxed enough to read his book helped relax Dean, too. He rolled his shoulder, stretching out his neck and started humming along with the music.

* * *

 

Sam couldn't help but smile as he listened to his brother humming.

Dean always liked Christmas music. He always liked Christmas. Sam would like Christmas if they ever  _got_ Christmas. It was rare, though, for them to take the time to have even a small celebration and he didn't remember the last time they'd had a Christmas tree. They usually managed to give each other some kind of gift, but that was as far as the celebration usually went.

This year seemed like it would be no different. If they'd stayed in Florida, they could've gotten a little artificial tree at least. They'd been settled there and he'd really hoped to be able to finish out one grade without switching schools. So much for that.

Sam tried to focus on the book. It was better than thinking about Christmas or thinking about the condition of the road. Even though the weather had cleared a bit, he could feel the car slipping and sliding from time to time. He glanced up periodically to get an idea of the terrain.

The weather reports were still bleak. There was more to come, the weather man promised.  _If you don't have to be out on the roads, stay home,_ he said, then a commercial came on recommending people head out to do their last minute Christmas shopping as soon as possible because all the deals would be gone.

"You'd think people weren't  _already_ spending enough money," Dean muttered. "So much for the the spirit of Christmas. It's all just about making money and getting a lot of crap no one needs. Talk about commercialism."

"Commercialism?" Sam lifted his head and stared at his brother. "That's a really big word, Dean. I'm proud of you."

"Haha, you're hilarious."

Sam smiled. "I just didn't expect you to be worrying about selfishness and overspending."

Dean shrugged and said, "It's just the point of the thing."

"Well, either way, no one should be going to the mall in this mess." Sam motioned to the window, eyes widening as he took in the swirling snowflakes. "It's getting worse."

"It's getting better."

"No, it's not." Sam shook his head. "It  _was._ Like ten minutes ago, but it's getting worse again."

"It's fine."

"If you say so."

"Sam, go back to your book." Dean turned the volume up higher.

Rolling his eyes, Sam started to look back at his book and then the car skidded. He grabbed the door and his book went flying to the floorboard.

"Sorry, sorry," Dean said, pulling his arm back from where he'd thrown it across Sam's chest. "Just caught a patch of ice."

"How much further?" Sam asked, still holding tight to the door. He stared ahead into ever growing darkness.

"You're the one with the map."

Sam pulled the map out again and shone the flashlight on it. He tried to remember the last side road they'd passed and made a rough guess at how far they were from the next town.

_Too far._

"Great." Dean shook his head.

The radio was going in and out of reception and Dean had turned the windshield wipers up again. It was more sleet than snow coming down now and the scrape of the wipers sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Ice.

Sam turned off the flashlight and didn't bother to refold the map. After a moment, Dean flipped the radio off as well. He slowed the car almost to a crawl which told Sam exactly how bad the road condition was.

"Maybe we should pull over for awhile," he suggested after a few minutes of slipping and sliding.

"I'm not parking on the side of the road in this mess. Last thing we need is for some idiot to sideswipe us," Dean said, gently tapping the brakes. "Look for a driveway or another side street. If we can find some place that's safe to park, I'll—"

His statement was cut off as they were both thrown forward by a powerful impact from behind.

Sam hit the dashboard  _hard_. Pain exploded throughout his body. He heard Dean shout, a lot of thumping and skidding, and then the car spun out like a  _Tilt-a-Whirl_ coming off its tracks.

_tbc..._

 


	2. Chapter 2

Despite Dean's best efforts to keep the Impala under control, she spun out. He held onto the wheel as long as he dared, fighting against gravity, two tons of Detroit steel, and the impact from behind that had sent them into the tailspin in the first place.

The car slammed against a guardrail and the collision threw them sideways, but Dean grabbed the steering wheel again before he could be thrown across the seat. He'd be feeling the strain from the frantic grab later.

Running into the guardrail only propelled them the opposite direction. Dean got a brief glance of the pick-up truck that had rear-ended them, and then it vanished in a snowy swirl. The Impala slid right across the other lane and off the road. Dean fought to regain control and at least managed to keep the car from rolling over as they thudded down an incline.

The wild ride ended abruptly and he got all the breath knocked out of him when he was thrown into the steering wheel.

His vision went black for a few seconds. Sucking in a breath, he blinked hard to clear his vision. From his hands to his neck, his chest to his hip, a hot, throbbing pain pulsed through him. His head was spinning and he was fighting not to be sick. There were five hundred alarm bells going off in his mind, all demanding his attention. Despite the pain and shock, one alarm bell in his head was screaming out above all the rest.

_Sam. Sam. Sam._

Tuning out the pain as much as possible, he pushed himself off the steering wheel with shaky arms. His chest seized up and he had to pause to fight for another breath. He needed to move, needed to check his brother, but staying conscious had to take first priority or he wouldn't be able to do anything to help Sam. Slowly, he turned toward the passenger seat, all his muscles protesting even that slight movement. Through the dark spots in his vision, he saw his brother struggling to push himself up from his crumpled position on the floor board.

"Sammy?" Dean gasped, pain hitting him harder as he tried to move, talk, and breathe all at once.

"Yeah."

Stilling himself at the reassuring sound of his brother's voice, Dean struggled for another breath and watched Sam flop onto the seat next to him. Once he'd regained his ability to breathe, Dean asked, "You ok?"

"Think so." His voice was shaky and his face stark white as he turned to meet Dean's gaze.

His nose was bleeding, but that was the only injury Dean could see. Sam wiped a hand under his nose, discovered the blood, then wilted against the seat back with a groan.

"You're not gonna pass out, are you?"

"No." Sam tilted his head to look at Dean again, blood running unhindered down his face. "That sucked."

"Yeah, it did," Dean said, his entire body shaking from pain and the mere memory of the terrifying trip across the icy road. "You're getting blood everywhere. Put some pressure on it."

"Sorry."

This time Sam lifted his hand and pressed his fingers to his nose. He coughed and gagged and Dean finally was able to unlock his muscles enough to move. Reaching over, he pushed Sam forward so his head was down. Dean wasn't sure which one of them was shaking more. Keeping one hand on Sam's shoulder, Dean glanced outside. He saw nothing but snow and darkness. The headlights were out but the car was still running.

"What happened?" Sam asked, voice muffled.

"Some idiot hit us."

That brought Sam's head up fast. "Someone hit us?"

"That's what I just said."

Dean grimaced and pressed a hand to his chest. He didn't think anything was broken, but that didn't mean he wasn't hurting. He'd figure that out in a minute; there were other priorities. Eyes wide, Sam was frantically looking out the windows, his bleeding nose forgotten. Dean needed to know if there were any other injuries that were being forgotten. Or ignored.

"Hey, look at me," he said, grabbing Sam's shoulder.

Finally pressing his fingers to his nose again, Sam turned toward him.

"Are you ok? What hurts?"

"My nose," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, guessed as much." Dean smiled briefly. "What else? You break anything? Did you hit your head?"

"Just my nose."

"Well, that's attached to your head, genius."

Sam shrugged, still holding his nose even as bright red blood ran down over his hand. "I'm fine. Just banged up. You?"

"Banged up." Dean nodded, a little of the panic beginning to ebb.

"What're we gonna do?" Sam was shifting around.

"I don't know yet…hey, stop moving—" Dean broke off when Sam inadvertently blinded him with the flashlight.

"Sorry." Sam pointed the light away. "Just thought we might need this."

"Yeah, give it here." Dean took it, then said, "Need to check you over."

Sam shoved at his reaching hand. "I'm fine. Don't you think we should find out if we're sitting on the edge of a cliff or something?"

He had a good point. Dean shone the light around, reassuring himself they were just in a ditch. It was a pretty good incline they'd slid down from the road, but they weren't in any danger of falling into an abyss. He returned his attention to his brother.

"No cliff. Look at me."

Sam did, griping and complaining about Dean's assessment. His pupils reacted appropriately, and there were no cuts or gashes on his face. Inadvertent tears leaked from his eyes when Dean gently checked his nose. It wasn't broken, which was something at least. Dean dug around in the glove compartment for napkins to sop up some of the blood. Sam's hands were still shaking as he accepted them, but Dean had a feeling it had more to do with shock than anything else.

He settled back in his seat, feeling a delayed sense of shock sweep over him, too.

They'd just been rear ended and slid across a two lane county highway to wind up in a ditch on the opposite side of the road. He was torn between fury at whoever had hit them to concern at how that person was faring after the accident. The conditions were crappy; he couldn't exactly blame them for the crash.

"Are you ok?" Sam asked, fighting for control of the flashlight.

"Sore. Bruised. Fine," Dean answered distractedly.

"Did you hit your head?"

Dean smiled, glancing at his brother. Sam was still bleeding, but doing his best to do an assessment. He was holding his nose with a napkin in one hand while he was tried again to grab at the flashlight.

"Sam, I'm fine. I didn't hit my head, ok? Just bashed my chest on the steering wheel and, no, before you freak out, I didn't break any ribs."

"I'm not gonna freak out," Sam snapped, no longer trying to grab the flashlight.

"Good. So sit still and hold pressure. I'm gonna take a look around. See if we're gettin' out of this ditch on our own or if we're gonna need a tow."

"What happened to the car that hit us?" Sam asked, trying to look up the incline back to the road.

"Gonna see what happened to them, too."

"I can help." Sam started sliding across the seat.

Dean rolled his eyes, trying to get his door open. "You aren't going to do a lot of good with only one hand."

Sam took his hand away from his nose. Blood dripped onto his jacket. "It's not bleeding that bad."

"Dude, it's gushing." Dean reached over and grabbed Sam's wrist, pushing his hand back to his nose. "Hold pressure."

"It is not."

"Yeah. It is." Dean shoved at the door again. "Keep your blood off my seats or you're paying to have them cleaned."

He couldn't care less about his seats at this moment, but as a threat it seemed to have worked. Sam huffed, but sat back in his seat, hand pressed to his nose again. Dean gave up trying to open the door after another two attempts. He unrolled the window.

"When I get out, roll the window up, ok? Car's still running, so we need to conserve the heat while we can," Dean instructed, starting to slide through the window.

It was awkward and uncomfortable especially given how much his entire upper body was aching, but he made it out of the car. His shoes sank into ankle deep snow and he wished he had snow boots. Snow boots and a heavier coat. He shivered as the change in temperature hit him.

After a quick survey of the area around the car, he glanced back down and found Sam trying to get out the window.

"Hey!" Dean put his hand against Sam's shoulder. "Stay in the car."

"I'm not a kid, Dean!"

"No, you're a freakin' annoying teenager. Trust me. I've noticed," Dean said, longing for the days when Sam  _hadn't_ been a freakin' annoying teenager.

"Yeah, well so are —"

Sam broke off and Dean grinned in triumph. Dean  _wasn't_ a teenager anymore. Hadn't been for a year.  _Ha, nice try, Sammy._

"Damn it." Sam huffed, sitting back in the seat.

"Don't swear." Dean straightened, returning his attention to the surrounding area.

"Shit."

"I heard that. Roll up the window and you can curse me out all you want." Dean shone the flashlight around, then hovered until Sam had rolled the window up, giving him a mutinous glare. Dean tapped the window and said, "Keep pressure on your nose, Sammy."

Sam gave him the finger with his free hand and Dean wondered why cute kids had to turn into teenagers.

With a sigh, he started a quick survey of the car. The most important thing was ensuring the tailpipe wasn't in the snow. Just what he needed to do was kill his little brother with carbon monoxide poisoning while he was trying to protect him. Thankfully, the tail pipe was clear of snow and other obstruction.

The condition of the Impala's rear end, though, was enough to make him want to cry. In all honesty, it wasn't as bad as he'd feared. But even a  _scratch_  on his Baby was bad news. Being smashed off the road by a truck had left a much more serious mark. Dean didn't even want to look at Sam's side of the car. With the force they'd hit the guardrail, he knew the right side of the car had to be in bad shape. He'd address that later. Right now his priority was getting back to the road, seeing how the driver of the truck had fared, and getting some help.

He struggled up the incline back to the road. The snow was crusty and slick with ice and he was definitely not at his best. He fell twice and really hoped Sam wasn't watching. The falls both left him breathless and grunting in pain. He pressed a hand to his ribs again as he crested the hill. As much as it hurt, moving was probably the best thing right now. It wouldn't be long before his arms and shoulders would stiffen up badly. Already, stiffness was setting into his neck. Whiplash was a bitch.

Reaching the road, he paused to catch his breath. Pointing the flashlight beam back the way he'd come, he assessed the scene. From this perspective it was clear how lucky they'd been. The dip they'd slid into was surrounded by trees. If they'd gone down a bit sooner or later than the exact moment they had, they would've hit trees and the outcome of the accident could have been very different. Shaking his head, he turned back to the road and looked around what he once would have called a wintery wonderland. Now, it just seemed like something out of a nightmare.

It was near white out conditions. The sky was dark and the snow was still coming down, but it had transitioned completely from fluffy flakes to heavy, icy sleet. The edge of the road was slick and it was no wonder they'd gone into the ditch. He couldn't even seen their tracks anymore, thanks to how hard the sleet was coming down now.

"Wonderful," Dean muttered, broadening his search.

The area around was deserted and there was an eerie stillness to the scene. He could hear his wheezing breaths but no cars. Nothing but the falling snow. Grateful for the powerful beam of the flashlight, he looked up and down the road. Nothing. No movement. No vehicles.

No truck that had run them off the road.

"You've got to be kidding me." He shook his head, cautiously crossing the road.

The truck was nowhere in sight. It should have been a relief that no one in the other vehicle had been injured or killed, but mostly it just made him angry. Because they'd hit them and then  _left_ them. They'd hurt his brother, hurt his Baby, and then couldn't even be bothered to stop?

A moment of fear chased in after the anger. He'd never had a car accident before and the fact that someone had full on rear-ended them and then apparently taken off was more chilling to him than the snowy weather. There was no way the driver of the truck hadn't seen them go flying across the road. None. And yet they hadn't stopped.

That level of cowardice and disregard was almost impossible for him to wrap his mind around. He struggled to the far side of the road just to make sure he hadn't somehow missed the truck. After hiking for a few minutes, he still found nothing.

"They left us," he whispered to the snowy landscape.

Unbidden, images of a much worse wreck filtered through his mind. Sam could have been seriously hurt. They both could've been. Or trapped in the car. Or killed. He hurried across the road, back to the relative safety of the shoulder.

Suddenly, he felt very, very alone.

Waiting on the side of the road for a few more minutes, he hoped for a car to come by but none came. Everyone was probably tucked up safely in their houses. Or at the mall. Shivering, he tightened the collar of his coat and turned back the way he'd come. He checked his phone for signal as he walked, stopping a couple times to try and make a call but nothing went through. The signal was nonexistent.

Slipping and sliding back down the incline, he tried to think if they had anything bright that he could put out that might alert a passing driver that they were here. A long time ago, Dad had bought a set of orange emergency reflectors. Dean just couldn't remember if they were still in the trunk or not.

Halfway back to the car, he saw that the trunk was up and the driver's side door window was down again.

_He never listens._

Gritting his teeth, Dean stumbled in the snow, then called out, "Sam, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

A beam of light shining around the edge of the trunk meant Sam had found a second flashlight, but he didn't hear an answer.

Twenty seconds later he was standing at the rear of the car. The second flashlight was propped up in the corner of the trunk and Sam had a pile of supplies on the edge of the trunk. Their sleeping bags. The shotgun. A hatchet. He was struggling to pull the cooler out with one hand while the other hand was still pressed to his nose.

Sam looked up when Dean grabbed the cooler from him and hauled it out of the trunk.

Dean set it on the ground and said, "I told you to wait in the car."

"And I told you I'm not a kid." Sam sounded defiant despite the fact he was holding a bloody napkin to his face and was as pale as the snow.

Right then, Dean knew he had a choice to make. He could make his stand; reestablish his role as the boss. If he did that, he'd get nothing but grief for the foreseeable future. It looked like they were going to be sitting in the Impala together for a good long time. He didn't really want to piss off the person he was going to be sharing a small space with. So he opted for his second choice.

Compromise.

"We need to sort out where we are," Dean said, gathering the supplies and watching the defensiveness ease in Sam's eyes. "Come on. I'm freezing here, dude."

He hurried back to the front window and dumped the sleeping bags and other items into the back seat, then went back for the cooler. He spent a couple minutes digging around for the emergency reflectors and came up empty. Sam was pointing the flashlight all around the area. He stopped when Dean called his name.

"Did you find the other driver?" Sam asked, lowering the flashlight.

"No. They must've kept driving." He closed the trunk.

Sam's eyes widened. "They left us?"

"Yep. Come on, back in the car."

"But shouldn't we go find…someone? Get help?"

"Great plan. But first we need to figure out which direction to start walking," Dean said, pushing his brother toward the open window. "We don't need to walk ten miles the wrong direction."

Sam nodded, crawling back into the car gracelessly.

Dean pushed the cooler through the window and Sam scooted across the seat. Once he'd dragged the cooler over, Dean climbed through the window. Quickly, he rolled it up. There was already snow gathering inside the car and the temperature had dropped significantly. Dean turned the heat all the way up and rubbed his arms. Neither of them were dressed for this kind of weather.

"What'd you see up there?" Sam asked, lowering his hand and checking to see if his nose was still bleeding.

"A bunch of nothing," Dean answered, handing Sam the last napkin. He dug for a bottle of water from the cooler and the bottle of painkillers from the glove compartment. "The highway's deserted. It's really icy up there."

"So nobody's going to come by for awhile?"

"Kind of what it looks like." Dean downed a couple pills, drank half a bottle of water, then handed the pill bottle and water to his brother.

"I'm fine," Sam said, balling up the napkin and tossing it onto the floor. He tried to wipe some of the blood off his hands on his jeans.

Dean shook his head, refusing to take the bottles back. "Even if you're not feeling it yet, that was a bad hit we just took. You're gonna be feeling it soon, trust me. Take something and maybe you won't stiffen up too much before we have to hike it out of here."

Sam seemed to find the logic in that and took the pills without further argument.

While Sam finished off the bottle of water, Dean took stock of what they had left. Five more full bottles of water. Not terrible, but not great. He knew there were a couple granola bars kicking around in Sam's backpack and he had at least one candy bar stashed deep in the glove compartment.

"How's the gas?" Sam asked, leaning over the cooler to get a look.

That had been Dean's next agenda item and it was disappointing to find they had a little under a quarter tank of gas. Driving at a snail's pace through the bad weather had taken a toll.

He caught Sam's eye and said, "It'll run for a long time in idle."

"So what are we going to do?" Sam sat back on his side of the car. He returned the water bottle to the cooler, then shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

Dean took a deep breath, trying to figure out the best answer to that question. As refreshing as it was to have Sam looking to him for direction instead of arguing with him, his stomach knotted at the knowledge of his responsibility. Dad wasn't here;  _he_ was the one who would have to figure this out. The one who had to make sure they survived.

He stared out at the darkness for a few seconds, then said, "First, we're gonna figure out where we are."

Sam nodded and dug around on the floor board until he came up with his novel and the now crumpled map. Together, they unfolded it over the cooler. Dean shined his flashlight over the map and started looking for anything that was familiar.

"I didn't get signal on my phone," Sam said, peering at the map and tracing his finger along the road they'd been on. "You?"

"Nothing."

"Hmm. Here. This was where we got onto the county road."

Dean looked closer and his heart sank. They'd gone at least twenty miles since then.

"Looks like we're probably about fifteen miles away from the next town," Sam said, tapping the map. "So, given the weather and road conditions…it would take us at least five hours."

"At least." Dean grimaced.

Despite the fact they were both in good shape and knew how to make long hikes, the weather would be playing a role and it would hamper them. They didn't have appropriate footwear and even their coats weren't really heavy enough to keep them warm in the middle of a blizzard. The chances were good that they'd get lost in the white out. They'd probably freeze to death before they made it to the next town.

"What do you think?" Sam asked, looking up.

"I think we need to find a way to flag down a passing driver or snow plow or something," Dean said, shaking his head. "Our chances aren't very good out there."

"I agree." Sam turned the heat down a bit. "We need to conserve. Who knows how long we're going to be stuck here. We need to check the tailpipe."

"I did. It was good but we'll keep on eye on it."

"We could start a fire. Up by the road," Sam suggested.

It was a good idea, but the sleet wouldn't make it easy to keep a fire going.

"Could you see the car from the road?"

"Barely." Dean glanced out the windshield. "It's not gonna be visible for long with the way the snow's coming down."

"We're gonna have to try to make sure we don't get buried," Sam said, returning his attention to the map.

Dean shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold.

* * *

Sam studied the map, hoping to find a town closer. Something off the main highway, but within walking distance. There was nothing. Just nothing. Fear seemed to be gnawing a bigger and bigger hole in his gut with every passing second.

They were stranded. In a blizzard. Someone had run them off the road and just kept going.

_Dad doesn't know where we are. No one knows._

"Ok," Dean interrupted his anxious thoughts, "we're holding a hike in reserve. We've got enough gas to last us through the night, hopefully. Can you think of anything bright we can hang up by a tree by the road?"

Relieved to have something to do, Sam leaned over the seat and grabbed his backpack. Digging around, he found a bright blue shirt. Red or orange would have been a lot better, but it was the brightest thing either of them owned.

"That'll have to work," Dean said, accepting the t-shirt.

"We could put a flashlight in the snow," Sam suggested, wracking his brain to figure out ways to increase the odds of someone finding them. "Aim it up at the shirt. Or maybe find a way to stick it in a tree so it won't get buried in the snow."

"Good idea." Dean smiled. "That'll help. Do we still have extra flashlights?"

"I think there was one more in the trunk. No flares, though." Sam had been particularly disappointed by that unfortunate turn of events. A flare would have come in handy right now.

Dean was shoving the t-shirt into his pocket and looking out at the sleety snow. Already the windshield was iced up. There seemed to be no point in bothering to defrost it or use the windshield wipers.

"Are you going back up there?" Sam asked as Dean put his gloves on. The thought of his brother leaving the car made his stomach flip flop.

"Yeah. Get our distress flag up and flying."

"I'll come with you."

Instead of flat out saying  _no_ like Sam expected, Dean asked, "Why? There's nothing to see and no sense in both of us getting our shoes wet again. It's gonna get cold enough in here as it is."

He couldn't argue with the logic, so Sam nodded and settled back in his seat. Dean didn't comment on his easy acquiescence, just started unrolling the window.

"You sure you'll be able to find your way back?" Sam asked, trying not to let his tone betray his worry.

Their situation was bad enough. The thought of losing his brother in the night sent a chill through him that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Yeah. Visibility is crappy, but not that crappy. I'm not gonna wander in circles and get lost."

"You better not."

Dean started struggling out of the window again and it was obvious he was sore. Once he was outside, he wrapped his arms around himself and said, "Get that window up. Leave the engine running till I get back. And look for another pair of gloves."

Sam nodded, leaning forward and rolling the window up. He stayed in the driver's seat watching his brother quickly disappearing into the whiteness. Of all the things to happen, of course they'd get run off the road.

They were fairly well-equipped to deal with a night spent in a cold environment, but not anywhere near as prepared as they needed to be. Who knew how bad things were going to get? He spent a few minutes digging through their gear and the glove compartment, cataloging their supplies. He came up empty on his search for gloves, though.

_Perfect._

Sam turned the radio on and went around the dial a couple times, trying to pull in a station. Everything was either pure fuzz or intermittently fading in and out. Sighing, he turned the radio off and turned the emergency flashers on instead. He couldn't see the headlights; the front end seemed to be buried in a mound of snow.

Sam grimaced, thinking of what kind of damage the Impala must have suffered. He wanted to ask, but was also afraid to bring the topic up with his brother. Better to wait and find out later when they were warm and cozy in a repair shop and the damage was being repaired.

He slid closer to the window and looked up the hill. Nothing to see. Nothing but snow.

Sighing, he took the moment of peace to assess himself.

Dean had been right to encourage him to take the painkillers. He was definitely feeling the impact now that the initial shock had worn off. His forearms were screaming in pain and he hurt all the way up to his shoulders. Pushing his sleeves up, he looked at his arms. Already bruising, but no breaks. He'd mostly hit the dashboard with his arms which had probably saved him from a broken nose. Other than a dull headache, he was fine.

Rubbing his neck, he tried to look at himself in the rear view mirror, but it was too dark. Not that he really wanted to know. Touching his nose, he was thankful it had stopped bleeding. He was tempted to use some of the water to wash off the blood but decided against it. It was too cold to be getting his face wet. They were also going to need to conserve that water. Who knew how long it would be before they'd get out of here?

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he breathed easier seeing his brother slipping and sliding down the incline. Dean struggled through the snow, taking another quick peek at the tailpipe, then came back to the window. Sam unrolled it and moved back to allow Dean to climb inside. Dean paused, sitting on the edge of the window, and knocked his shoes against each other, trying to knock off as much snow as possible before he got back into the car.

"How'd it go?" Sam asked, once Dean had managed to get all the way back into the car.

"Good, I guess." Dean shrugged as he rolled the window up. He sounded out of breath and was shivering badly. Rubbing his hands together, he held them in front of a vent. "It's probably not going to do us much good, but it's something, anyway. I didn't see or even hear a car while I was up there."

"Think they closed the roads?"

"I'm sure some roads are closed, but I doubt this one is. Everyone's just avoiding it." He checked his watch, then said, "It's gonna be a long night."

"No kidding."

"We should've ordered more at the restaurant and taken some tacos to go."

Sam smiled.

"How're you feeling?" Dean asked, looking him up and down in the tangential glow of the flashlight. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm ok. Sore. Hit my arms on the dashboard, but it's nothing. My neck hurts and my face hurts."

"I bet your face hurts." Dean snorted.

"What about you?"

Dean rubbed his neck. "Whiplash. Sore. We got lucky."

Sam nodded. He put his hands into his pockets again. Even though the heat was on, he was cold. It was only going to get worse, of course, which wasn't a comforting thought at all.

* * *

John kicked the door closed behind him and dropped the weapons bag on the filthy carpet. After locking the door, he headed straight for the heater and turned it up to high. Standing in front of the heater, trying to thaw out a little, he decided he really missed Florida. But he had to go where the hunts were, and this one had been in Ohio. So here he was.

The curtain was partially open and he stared out at the falling snow for a moment, then yanked the curtain closed. He'd spent the last few hours in the snow, he didn't want to spend another minute looking at it. The cold was all the way to his bones, it seemed, and it took several minutes before he was ready to move away from the heater.

He sat on the edge of the bed and started pulling his boots off; a hot shower the only thing he wanted in the world. Well, that and a hot meal, maybe. He'd been living off granola bars and beef jerky the past few days. Once he'd showered, he'd order some Chinese or something. There was no way he was going back out into the storm.

The storm.

It had seemed to come out of nowhere, but it was his own fault for not having double checked the weather like he should have. Time had been short, though. He'd driven a solid thirteen hours to get to this hunt and hadn't done more than take an hour long nap before heading out into the woods to seek his prey.

Not like the weather would have prevented him from taking the hunt in the first place. It was almost Christmas and a young family had been brutally murdered (that was the official story, in fact they'd been  _eaten,_ but John had kept that to himself). He hadn't been able to stomach the thought of anyone else dying right before the holiday, so he'd headed to Ohio instead of back to Florida like he'd planned.

Sighing, John rubbed his head and closed his eyes.

He'd been out west for the past week and had been looking forward to getting home to his boys in time for Christmas. Then he'd heard about the haunting in Massachusetts. Sending the boys on toward Webster Lake (he had no interest in even attempting to say the original name; never mind that Sam had rattled it off with ease) hadn't made any of the three of them happy, but it was necessary. The plan was to meet them now that he was finished here in Ohio.

Of course, the storm was an issue he hadn't banked on at all.

Roads were already bad and officials were urging people to stay home. Even with the truck, it hadn't been an easy trip back to the motel and he'd seen more than one car stuck on the side of the road. The storm wasn't supposed to abate anytime soon.

Sitting up, he turned the tv on and watched the little banner running across the screen proclaim just how bad the storm was. Everything was closed. The weather report came on and his heart sank when he saw the storm reached the coast. He checked the time. Great. The boys would be somewhere in the middle of it.

He pulled out his cell phone and checked for messages. There was one text from several hours ago. Dean had checked in with their location as instructed. They'd been in New York eating lunch. John checked the time and checked the map. Under normal travel conditions, they should've reached Webster Lake by now. But with the storm, it was more likely they were still on the road.

Dialing, John hoped Dean would pick up, but instead had to leave a voicemail.

"Dean, give me a call. Storm's bad, I'm going to be delayed. Just hole up somewhere and we'll deal with the haunting when I get there."

Last thing he wanted was for them to decide to work the case without him. Not that he didn't think they were capable, because he did. But there was no way in hell he was ready to let them go out there without backup.

He paused, staring at the weather report, then shook his head and added, "Be careful. And call me."

Ending the call, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers pressed to his lips. Scenes of the storm played out on the news and he didn't like it. Not at all.

"They're fine," he said aloud, pushing himself to his feet.

It wasn't like they'd missed a check-in. He'd only called once. There could be any number of reasons Dean hadn't picked up just now. There was no reason to worry.

John called Sam's phone.

Voicemail again.

He left another message and repeated to himself, "They're fine."

There was no reason to believe otherwise.

He took his phone with him into the bathroom and turned the shower on. Undressing while the water sputtered and  _hopefully_  warmed up, he couldn't help but keep looking at his phone. Dropping his shirt on the counter, he double checked that the ringer was turned all the way up. It was. He tested the water. Still cold. Glanced at his phone again. Might as well try calling one more time while he waited for the water.

Two more voicemail messages later, he forced himself to set the phone aside and duck into the shower. There was no reason to worry. Just because it was snowing out. Just because they weren't answering their phones. Just because they were somewhere right in the middle of the storm and he was four hundred miles away.

"They're fine," he said, the not-quite warm enough water sending a chill through him.

He was overreacting. Overthinking. He was exhausted. He needed to finish the shower, get some food, try to get a little rest. Everything would be fine. He took a deep breath, the water finally running warm over his chilled skin. Muscles beginning to loosen up, he was starting to relax.

And then he pulled the curtain back, reached out a dripping hand, and grabbed the phone off the counter.

It wouldn't hurt to try calling one more time...

_tbc..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a cliffhanger this time! You're welcome. ;)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Eve!
> 
> I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter. It was supposed to have been posted on Friday. Ugh! All my best laid plans went awry to put it mildly. But here it is at last. :D
> 
> I'm glad everyone seemed to like John's bit in the last chapter. I was really nervous about writing him. I try very hard to keep my stories as tightly tied to canon as possible. I try to build on what was seen on the show and keep everyone's thoughts and motivations true to what we see later in the show. This is pre-series, so it's a big challenge, but also fun to try to explore these complicated guys at this point in their lives.
> 
> Anyway! :) Hope you're filling up on Christmas cookies and spending time with those you love. Enjoy the chapter when you are able to amidst the holiday crazy.

The first hour and a half wasn't too bad. A little chilly, a whole lot boring.

Dean's muscles were tight and his whole body ached as he sat in the cramped car. Not much he could do about it, though. The weather was worsening and he wasn't getting out of the car again until it was time to check the tailpipe.

He had an alarm set on his watch. Hourly he would get out of the car and check to ensure the tailpipe was clear of snow. He'd go up to the road and try to flag down any vehicles that happened to go by —  _if_ any vehicles ever went by. At his last check, he'd kicked a bit of snow away from the exhaust, then trekked up the hill only to find the road every bit as quiet and deserted as it had been before.

Sighing, he tried the radio again. Still barely pulling in any signal. Not that they needed a weather report. It was obvious simply by looking out the window that the storm wasn't slacking off yet.

"Too bad we don't have any hot chocolate," Sam said, his voice disturbing the quiet of the car.

"No kidding."

Hot chocolate, or  _anything_ hot, would be amazing right about now. Dean rolled his shoulders, his stiff neck screaming in protest, and shifted to look at his brother. Sam was huddled in his coat, arms wrapped around his legs. They were both chilled, both suffering from headaches and muscle aches. It wasn't pleasant, but it definitely could have been worse.

Gritting his teeth, he reached into the back seat and grabbed their sleeping bags.

"Wrap up in that," he instructed, opening the second bag for himself.

Sam climbed into the sleeping bag, then went back to huddling against the door.

Dean spread the second sleeping bag over his legs, pulling it up as far as it would go. He closed his eyes. Might as well get a little rest before his next excursion out into the cold. He was exhausted from the long drive, the stress and pain from the accident, and the oppressive cold. He heard Sam shifting around, but he didn't say anything so Dean assumed he was merely getting comfortable so he could take a nap, too.

Wasn't like there was anything else they could do.

He was almost completely asleep when his alarm beeped. Lifting his head, he looked out the windows as if something would have changed since he'd closed his eyes. Sam had his head down on his knees, still bundled up in a tight ball, conserving heat.

Dean debated whether or not it would be safe for him to skip this check. He'd shoveled out a decent area under the tailpipe. It seemed unlikely that enough snow would have fallen to block it, but it also didn't seem like a good idea to take chances.

He started peeling himself out of his semi-warm cocoon.

"You going out again?" Sam asked, lifting his head. His hair was standing up on one side, mashed down on the other and he sounded groggy and half asleep.

Dean nodded fighting back a yawn.

"Do you have to?"

"Yeah. I'm not gonna let us die of carbon monoxide poisoning, Sam," he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'll be quick. Roll the window up once I'm out."

Sam nodded, scooting across the seat.

Steeling himself for the cold blast of air, Dean unrolled the window and climbed out. Every time he got out of the car, it was more difficult than the last time.

Pausing by the door to stretch out his shoulders and back, he waited until Sam had rolled the window up, then made his way to the rear of the car. They'd been conserving the battery on the flashlight and he didn't bother to turn it on yet. He felt his way along the car until he came to the rear, then turned the flashlight on and surveyed the tailpipe. Still clear.

Relieved, he turned around and slogged his way back to the front door. Sam was watching from behind the wheel and Dean gave him a quick thumbs up before turning away. Getting up the incline was a challenge with his tight muscles and the iciness of the ground, but he made it without face planting.

He was disappointed to find that the other flashlight had fallen into the snow. The wind was stronger than it had been earlier and the trees were moving. The branches he'd wedged it against must have swayed just enough to displace it. Groaning at the pull in his upper back, he leaned down and picked up the flashlight. The blue t-shirt was still hanging where he'd left it and he took a minute to position the flashlight beam against it again. Wedging it as best he could, he hoped for better luck this time.

After waiting just a moment longer in case a miracle would happen and a snow plow would come rolling by, Dean sighed and started back down the slope. Slipping and sliding, he made it halfway before his feet went out from under him and he wound up on his butt in the snow. The impact jolted every aching inch of his body and he cursed aloud.

Groaning at the cold and the pain, he struggled back to his feet. A glance at the car revealed his brother had definitely seen what had just happened, but Sam didn't look like he was amused. He just looked worried. Dean brushed the snow off the seat of his pants and waved a hand to try to allay some of Sam's concerns. He slowly made his way to the front of the car. Sam was unrolling the window as he approached.

As he'd done before, Dean sat on the edge of the window and knocked his shoes against each other to try to leave at least most of the snow outside. Getting back inside was awkward and made especially difficult by how stiff and sore he was. The muscle aches were getting worse despite the painkiller he'd taken earlier and Dean hated to think how he would feel in a few more hours.

"How does it look out there?" Sam asked as Dean rolled the window up.

"Snowy." Dean's teeth were chattering.

"Take the gloves off," Sam said, turning the heat up. "They're wet. Can you even feel your fingers?"

Dean nodded and it was only partially a lie. He could  _mostly_ feel his fingers.

"This is bad." Sam turned the heat up then grabbed Dean's hands. He tugged Dean forward to put his hands near the vent. "They're really cold."

"Trust me,  _everything_  is very cold."

"You were out there too long," Sam said, wrapping the sleeping bag around Dean's shoulders.

Dean didn't fight him on it because the shivering was only making the pain worse. Once Sam was satisfied with his efforts, he settled back against the passenger side door, retreating into his own nest of warmth.

"No cars?"

Dean shook his head, still waiting for feeling to come back into his numb fingers. He didn't know exactly how cold it was, but it was dangerously cold. He'd briefly entertained thoughts of trying to hike it out or set up a shelter on the side of the road in case a car came by, but those thoughts were eliminated with his latest walk. They would die of exposure before anyone would find them. Their only chance was to stay in the car and hope things were better in the morning.

"I tried the radio again," Sam said. "Still fuzzy but it doesn't sound like things are going to get better till tomorrow at the earliest."

"Yeah, we're not going anywhere tonight that's for sure." Dean pulled the sleeping bag around himself more tightly.

Sam nodded, then pointed at the dashboard. "I made dinner."

Dean laughed at the sight of four granola bars, half a bag of Doritos, the candy bar from the glove compartment and one apple.

He grinned and said, "I'll take the candy bar and you can have the apple."

"No, we'll split everything." Sam shook his head, then winced and rubbed his forehead.

"You ok?"

"Headache."

"Is it getting any better?"

Sam shrugged and said, "It's not getting worse. As long as I don't move too much."

"Well, we're not going to be moving too much tonight." Dean shifted in the seat, trying to get comfortable. He motioned to the collection of snacks on the dashboard. "So. Dinner?"

"I'm not really hungry, but you can if you want to."

Dean tried to decide if he needed to worry or not as he watched Sam huddle deeper into his sleeping bag. He'd seen his brother concussed before, and he  _seemed_ fine right now, but Dean wasn't exactly at his best. Was he missing something or was it just as simple as his brother not being hungry?

His thoughts began spiraling out of control.

Was he making the wrong choice? Was hiking out a better option? The temperature was only going to continue to drop. It was going to get bad even in the car, but walking would be dangerous. Exposure could kill them fast. But if Sam was more seriously injured, maybe Dean needed to take the chance…

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean pulled himself out of his dark thoughts and looked at his brother.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"I'm fine."

"Then what's the matter?" Sam was studying him, eyes narrowed.

"What about our current situation  _isn't_ the matter," Dean said, relaxing to a degree when Sam laughed a little.

"The car's still running."

"True." He waited, expecting Sam to continue. When he didn't, Dean said, "That was a short list."

Sam shrugged, looking away.

Dean studied him in the near darkness of the car. Blood was still smeared over the lower half of his face. There wasn't much Dean could do about their situation, but he could at least take care of that.

Shifting in his seat, he grabbed a bottle of water off the dash and said, "Mop the blood off your face. You look like a victim in a horror movie."

"Water's too cold." Sam wrinkled his nose, muttering a soft  _ow_. He touched his nose gently and asked, "Who cares what I look like anyway?"

" _I_  care what you look like," Dean said, holding out the bottle, "and you're getting cleaned up."

"That's so stupid."

Dean rolled his eyes heavenward, remembering the golden days when Sam had been easy to get along with.

"You know we're already at high risk of hypothermia," Sam said, not moving his arms outside his cozy cocoon. "Cold water is only going to lower my body temperature and —"

"You're not going to die of hypothermia from washing the blood off your face."

"If I do, I'm going to come back and haunt you." Sam finally grabbed the water bottle.

"Duly noted." Dean smiled, giving him a semi-clean rag from the glove compartment.

Sam glared at him, but did a decent job of washing the blood off.

Once he was finished, Dean turned on the flashlight and did a quick exam of his brother's face. He would have done a much more thorough job but Sam was batting his hand away and griping the entire time. Surrendering, Dean decided he was probably fine if he was bitching that much. Sam pulled the sleeping bag around himself more tightly and Dean did the same.

"Are you going to have to keep checking the exhaust all night?" Sam asked after a few minutes passed in silence.

"If you want to be alive in the morning, then yes."

"Next time I can go," Sam said, shifting sideways in the seat and pulling his knees up to his chin, his back resting against the door.

"No, I've got it," Dean said, double checking he'd set the alarm on his watch.

"You shouldn't go out every time. We'll take turns."

Dean's instinct was to say absolutely not, but he knew it made sense to take turns. It wasn't like Sam was planning to hike ten miles. He was just going to check the rear of the car. He was sixteen not  _six_ and Dean really needed to adjust to that fact.

So he nodded and said, "Ok."

Sam brightened a little, then turned his attention to the windshield and the snow coming down. He sighed and said, "It's getting worse again."

Dean watched the wind gust and scatter the snowflakes around the car.

"If no one finds us tonight," Sam asked softly, "are we going to try to walk to the nearest town?"

"That's the plan. Hopefully we won't have to walk too long before a car or a plow goes by." Dean leaned forward and snatched a granola bar off the dashboard; his neck, chest and arms twinging at the movement.

"I can't believe the person who ran us off the road just kept driving," Sam said, a few minutes later.

Dean couldn't tell if Sam was angry or scared.  _Maybe both._ Unwrapping the granola bar, Dean took a bite and pondered their situation. If he'd checked the weather before they'd left Florida and just planned better, they would be in a warm motel room right now. Probably ordering pizza and waiting for Dad to arrive.

"It's not your fault."

Dean didn't comment because it  _was_  his fault. He finished the granola bar and tossed the wrapper on the dashboard. Finally he said, "Dad wouldn't have lost control like that."

"Are you kidding?" Sam was incredulous. "We got rear ended on an icy road. I don't think Dad would have done anything different than you did."

"We're in a ditch."

"Yeah. And we're both alive and the car didn't flip and is still running so I'd say that's pretty good driving."

Dean couldn't hold back a half smile at his brother's confidence and support.

"Do you think Dad's stuck?" Sam was staring at their cell phones, sitting next to each other on the dash.

"Probably."

"Well, I'd rather be stuck with you."

Dean laughed. "I think we  _all_ would rather you be stuck with me than with Dad."

"He'd probably make me sit in a snowbank." Sam grinned.

"You better stay on my good side or  _I'll_ make you sit in a snowbank."

"You wouldn't."

"Stay on my good side and we'll never find out."

The lighthearted teasing helped relax Dean. Of course, relaxing led to thinking about how bored he was. Without the radio, there wasn't a lot of entertainment available. It was too early to try to sleep and he wasn't looking forward to sleeping at any point. It was too cold.

"Since we're stuck here all night anyway, can I use a flashlight and read for awhile?" Sam asked after a few moments of silence. "We've got spare batteries anyway."

"Sure." Dean settled as comfortably in his seat as he could and closed his eyes.

At least one of them would be entertained.

* * *

Sam only finished one chapter before he gave up reading. His head was hurting too much to focus and holding the book and the flashlight was straining his sore arms. Looking down at the book left his neck spasming. All in all, he was feeling pretty crappy.

"Book no good?"

It was Dean's way of asking  _Why did you stop reading? Are you alright? Do I need to worry about you?_

Sam set the book on the dashboard and said, "It's fine. Just can't focus."

"Headache?"

"Yes, but you don't have to freak out."

"Who says I'm freaking out?" Dean rubbed his forehead. "My head is killing me, too."

Sam raised his eyebrows at the admission.

"Don't freak out," Dean teased. He smiled, lowering his hand and drumming his fingers against the seat between them. "Pretty crappy thing to happen before Christmas."

"It's a crappy thing no matter when." Sam shrugged. "What difference does Christmas make? Christmas is just like any other day."

It was the truth, but he regretted saying it aloud. Sam glanced nervously at his brother. Dean tended to get a little sensitive when he said stuff like that. Never mind it was the truth; Dean always seemed so crushed that Sam didn't find their lives as perfect as he did.

"Sam, we'll do something for Christmas and-"

"No, we won't," Sam cut him off, the tension he'd felt since long before the accident snapping his self-control.

_We won't do anything for Christmas and I don't even care._

He'd long ago stopped getting his hopes up only to have them dashed. Ever since the Christmas he'd found out about monsters and hunting, the holiday had seemed haunted. Haunted with memories, with pain, with fear. Haunted with a boundless sense of loss that lingered to this day.

Dad couldn't understand and neither did Dean. They both loved hunting. Sam's eyes burned because as hard as he tried, he just couldn't love it the way they did. It wasn't easy being the only Winchester who didn't really fit in with the family business.

Keeping his gaze averted from his brother, Sam said, "We came here for a hunt. Dad's going to want to hunt and that's what we're going to do."

A quiet sigh was the only response he received.

Sam wished the topic of Christmas had never come up because this was always how stuff like this went. Dad promised, Dean promised, but in the end, it was all about hunting monsters and saving people. Which was a worthy and noble cause, sure, but when it consumed their entire lives, he had trouble focusing on the good they were supposedly doing.

Sometimes, despite the dark memories of that fateful Christmas eight years ago, Sam just wanted to know what it would be like to celebrate a holiday like other people did. Food, friends, family.

It wasn't like he expected a Christmas tree. Didn't even  _care_  if they had a tree. Didn't care about presents. None of that mattered.

He just kind of wanted to spend some time with his family safe at home.

He just kind of wanted a  _home._

He just kind of wanted  _safe._

Well, he wasn't getting any of those things. All he was getting was a long, cold night in a ditch and the only thing he had to look forward to was a hunt.

So much for food, friends and family.

Not that it would make any difference even if they weren't stuck in a ditch. They were usually struggling to make ends meet anyway, which meant food wasn't a luxury; it was survival. He didn't have any friends. As far as his family, Dad didn't care about Christmas or anything beyond the next hunt.

Dean, on the other hand, loved Christmas and never seemed to care how they spent the holiday. He never cared if the only thing they did was eat dinner in front of a football game and hand each other something small; usually wrapped in a paper bag or last week's comics. He always went out of his way to try to make the day nice and Sam both loved him and hated him for it.

He loved him for always trying to make the best of their situation. But he hated that Dean  _had_ to. Hated that Dean always had to pretend everything was fine and that Christmas in a dirty motel room was great. Because as long as Dean kept pretending there was nothing wrong with the way they lived, he'd always be trapped and never have anything more.

And Sam wanted him to have more.

Pulling the sleeping bag closer, Sam tried to shut down his mind. His head was hurting enough already; he didn't need to be trying to sort through his complicated feelings about Christmas and his brother's future.

"Sammy," Dean interrupted his thoughts.

He sounded worried and like he was going to try to make everything better. It made Sam's heart hurt.

Leaning his head against the seat, Sam closed his eyes and said, "We should try to get some sleep. Wake me up when it's my turn to check the exhaust."

Another sigh weighed the air between them down like an anvil.

* * *

A lumbering snowplow scraping and thudding along the road jolted John out of a deep sleep.

Heart pounding, he sat up with a gasp, trying to remember where he was and what was happening. The remote fell off his chest to hit the carpet and he turned to the television. For a moment, he sat there staring stupidly at an infomercial for a new kind of "wonder glue". Shaking his head, he looked at the clock.

Three AM.

He hadn't intended to fall asleep. Didn't  _remember_ falling asleep, yet here it was three in the morning. A bottle of beer and the packages from his delivery dinner were on the nightstand but where was his phone?

His head was muzzy and heavy and the worry was constricting his chest. His heart was still racing as he searched the rumpled bedding he didn't remember collapsing onto earlier. He'd been watching the news. The weather report. He'd been trying to call the boys.

Hands running over the bedding, he failed to find his phone and his heart, impossibly, began racing even faster. He stood up and shook the covers. A faint thud on the far side of the bed had him rushing around to find his phone. The sight of it helped calm him to a certain extent, but he'd had the volume turned all the way up. If one of the boys had called, he would have heard it. No matter how deeply he'd been sleeping, he would have heard it.

Which meant they hadn't called.

Sure enough, a glance at the phone revealed no missed calls and no texts.

He sank onto the edge of the bed and dialed Dean's number. He hadn't heard from them for around fifteen hours. Leg bouncing as he stared out the partially open blinds at the swirling snow beyond, he prayed he would get through.

He didn't.

Leaving a message, he rounded the bed again and picked up the remote. He went around the channels until he found a weather report. It wasn't good news. Dialing Sam's phone, John watched the report with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

His boys were missing somewhere in that mess and he was hours away from wherever they were. Helplessly, he called Dean again only to get voicemail once more. Another cycle with Sam's phone and he stopped. If they could answer, they would answer.

They were probably stuck somewhere with poor cell reception. That's probably all it was. The storm was leaving power outages across the East Coast. Maybe even the landlines were down. He took a deep breath and stood up. Crossing the room, he stared out the window at the storm.

It was impressive. Beautiful, even. Made him think of better times.

Building a snowman in the backyard with Dean. The smell of Christmas cookies. Opening presents on Christmas morning. Dean surrounded by toys and Mary surrounded by wrapping paper and bows while he watched them, his heart full to bursting with joy.

Right now, though, his heart was anything but joyful.

Those memories were precious, but tempered with death and fire and heartbreak so profound it still staggered him. He leaned his forehead against the cold glass and thought of Christmases since the ones with Mary. It hurt thinking about that first Christmas without her. Hurt remembering that they'd never even had a Christmas all together, the four of them.

He'd tried, he really had tried, to make Christmas special in the years after her death. But hunting took priority at some point, and there'd been no going back.

After pulling the curtains open so he could keep an eye on the storm, he went back to the bed then sat down. He reached down into his bag and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. It was Christmas Eve and he was alone with his regrets and memories.

The burn of the whiskey was a welcome sensation, and he wanted nothing more than to give into the temptation to drown the regrets and memories. But there was a phone in his hand that had not rung in over fifteen hours. The pain in his heart wasn't as strong as the fear that consumed him.

There was only one thing left in the world that scared John Winchester and it was the thought of losing his boys.

He wouldn't be drinking himself into oblivion today.

* * *

Rubbing his arms, Dean leaned closer to the window, straining to watch Sam as he struggled up the incline back to the road.

They hadn't said much since their conversation hours earlier and the car had seemed to shrink even smaller with every passing minute. Sam had tried to stretch out in the backseat, but it was too cold even with the heat up and the sleeping bag over him, so they'd wound up cramped on their own sides of the front seat; uncomfortable and avoiding each other as best as they could.

Yawning, Dean blinked hard, fighting to shake off the fatigue as he stared out the window.

The words from their conversation tumbled around him like the snowflakes in the dark sky. It wasn't like he'd been surprised by what Sam had said, but it stung nonetheless. Sam wasn't happy and Dean didn't know what to do about it.

Sam did have a point, Dean had to admit. Dad's focus would be on the hunt. Dad's focus was  _always_ on the hunt. Christmas wouldn't be high on his list. It never was.

Dean thought about the Christmases he really didn't remember. There were images, feelings, moments he couldn't bring into focus, but somehow recalled all the same. He could remember his mom holding him up as he put decorations on the tree. Remembered feeling happy. But it had been a lifetime since then.

Now, it was less about the frills and more about being together with his family. What could be better?

He sighed, rubbing his sleeve against the window and trying to keep an eye on his brother. All night they'd been taking turns checking the road and the tailpipe. They were both moving slower as the cold sapped their strength. Dawn was nearing, but not fast enough and Dean worried that they were both going to be too tired to hike to the nearest town.

He pulled the map from the dashboard and looked at it again. Unfortunately, the dots marking the nearest towns hadn't magically moved any closer to them since the last time he'd looked.

Setting the map and flashlight back on the dash, he stared at their silent, signalless cell phones.

By now, he figured Dad knew something was up. He'd probably been trying to call them. When they did finally get signal, they both were going to have some missed calls. Staring out into the darkness, he wondered if Dad was worrying about them or if he assumed they were fine, just unable to call, and was sleeping soundly with a whiskey-assist.

The sight of his brother fighting his way back through the snow refocused his attention from thoughts of Dad to their current predicament. He glanced at the gas gauge which was getting uncomfortably close to empty. They would be lucky if they made it to first light with the car still running.

He shifted and started rolling down the window as Sam drew closer. He was slipping and sliding in the snow, arms wrapped around himself as he hurried toward the car as quickly as he could. Dean didn't like that he was out there, but Sam had fought him every single time and insisted they alternate on their trips outside. Dean hated it, but it was probably for the best considering he still didn't feel thawed out from his last trip.

Sam stumbled a few feet away, recovering before he fell, then climbed through the window. Snow spilled all over the seat and Dean tried to brush it off as Sam struggled into the car. He dropped hard onto the seat and just sat there shaking with the cold, not even making a move to close the window.

"Seriously?" Dean griped, annoyed. "Dude, it's cold!"

The only response he got was the sound of Sam's teeth chattering uncontrollably.

Reaching past him, Dean rolled the window up.

Once it was closed, Dean sat back and studied his brother in the near darkness. He caught Sam's gaze and, in that brief second, saw misery and hopelessness staring back at him. Seeing that look in his brother's eyes hurt more than the injuries he'd received in the crash.

Sam closed his eyes and slumped against the door.

"Hey, come here," Dean said, sliding closer. He took off the sleeping bag he'd been huddled in and put it around Sam's shoulders, pulling him away from the door. "Man, you're freezing."

"It's not exactly Florida out there," Sam said, his voice shaking as badly as he was.

"Hilarious." Dean didn't think it was funny at all.

Tugging the second sleeping bag off the dashboard, Dean spread it over their legs then wrapped his arms around his brother. Sam didn't resist at all, just pressed into the warmth Dean was offering.

"Do you think Dad's ok?" Sam whispered.

"Yeah. I know he is." He didn't, not really, and they both knew it.

But Sam simply nodded.

Dean stared at the ice covered windshield. Dad had still been on the hunt when they'd last spoken. He'd been fine then, but it had been  _hours_ since then _._ Anything could have happened.

He gritted his teeth, refusing to allow his thoughts to go down a dark path.

Dad was ok. He knew how to survive. He was ok and so were they. Sure, it was Christmas Eve and they were stranded in a storm and trying to stave off hypothermia, but they were going to get out of this mess. They'd get somewhere safe and then Dean was going to make sure Sam had a good Christmas.

Dean closed his eyes and drew Sam closer.

They'd be alright.

They had to be.

_tbc..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! It's Christmas Eve for the boys too...their Christmas day is a bit further off than ours is lol. Not sure when I'll get ch 4 up but I don't think it will be as delayed as this one was.
> 
> I owe my amazing beta all the Christmas cookies in the world and probably a million dollars for all her patience and help as she assisted me with getting this chapter just right. :)
> 
> Have a great Christmas Eve...and if I'm not back till after Christmas... Merry Christmas! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy day after Christmas. :)
> 
> Hope everyone had some nice time with their families and friends. I had a very nice time although now I'm exhausted from all the fun lol.
> 
> Here's a little post-Christmas present for all of you. Enjoy!

The engine sputtered to its inevitable stop an hour after dawn.

They'd spent the night cold and uncomfortable, buried together under the sleeping bags to keep warm. Warm _-ish_ , Dean amended. They hadn't frozen to death, but they weren't exactly warm, either. The cold was oppressive and left them chilled despite the layers and the fact the heat was on in the car.

His entire body ached with pain and cold and he was so stiff that every movement hurt. Sitting in a cramped car in the freezing cold had been rough on their battered bodies. He'd skipped the last check of the exhaust because he just hadn't been able to convince himself to move.

The thought of leaving the car now filled him with dread, but what choice did they have? No one had found them yet, and with the car no longer running, their shelter would be nothing more than a cold tomb.

Yawning, he shifted slightly, every muscle screaming in protest. His movement elicited a groan of protest to his right and he stilled.

"Sammy?"

"Hmmm."

Dean glanced at his brother, his neck twinging with the movement. Sam was pressed to his side, head resting on Dean's shoulder. His eyes were closed and he didn't seem to be in any hurry to move.

"You awake?" Dean asked, rubbing his stiff neck with his left hand.

"Been awake."

"You get any sleep?"

"Not really." Sam sighed, but didn't move. "I'm cold."

"You're gonna get colder. Car stopped running."

Straightening from his slouched position, Dean gently pushed Sam toward the door. This time they both groaned with the movement and Sam slumped heavily against the door. His face was pale against the dark blue of the sleeping bag, but the bruises under his eyes matched the fabric nicely. In the light of morning, Dean could see all the blood they'd failed to wash away last night. His nose was swollen and red and coordinated well with his bloodshot eyes.

All in all, he looked miserable.

Dean grimaced sympathetically.

Sam still didn't move and was staring blankly at the windshield.

Dean reached for their phones on the dashboard, trying not to gasp at the pain in his back from even that simple movement.

He checked them both and found them disappointingly, but unsurprisingly, without signal.

"No signal," he said softly.

He turned his attention to the snowy scene outside. More snow had fallen during the night. The only windows they could see out of were the side windows that they'd been using to get in and out of the car all night. He'd been the last one to check and moving through the deepening snow had become increasingly difficult. It was highly unlikely anyone could even see the Impala from the road now.

Sighing, he pushed himself up in his seat a bit more and said, "We need to get going. Hope someone is out there on the road."

"Ok."

"Breakfast first, though." Dean dug through the scattered supplies they'd set on the dashboard. "We're gonna need the calories."

He held out a granola bar and a bottle of too cold water. Sam looked less than thrilled, but unburied himself enough to grab the items. Dean unwrapped another one and stared at the meager supplies.

 _Not good, not good_.

They needed more than a granola bar and cold water. Despite the fact the car had continued running through the night and kept them from freezing to death, they were already cold and getting out to hike while not dressed for the weather was going to be a super great way to get hypothermic. While he ate the granola bar, he tried to think through everything in the trunk. Prioritize what they would need for a hike through the snow and what could be left.

"Maybe we won't have to go far," Sam said, his mouth full of granola, "before we get a signal."

He was being refreshingly optimistic, Dean had to admit, but somehow doubted they'd be that lucky. Nodding anyway, Dean said, "Hopefully. Once we finish eating, we might as well get going. Sit here any longer and it's gonna get cold."

Sam snorted.

Dean smiled and corrected, " _Colder._ "

"Colder," Sam echoed.

They spent a few minutes choking down the unappetizing granola bars, then Dean passed out a couple painkillers to both of them. Heaven knew they needed it. Walking would probably help with the stiffness, but it didn't mean he was looking forward to the process.

Once they'd finished, they started preparing to leave. There was no point in delaying. Sitting up a little further, he gathered what little they had in the car and shoved it all into his backpack. Sam was doing the same.

"I need to grab some stuff out of the trunk," Dean said, zipping the backpack up. "Then we head for the road."

The window was a little frozen and it took some effort before he could get it open. A fluff of snow fell into the car and the cold was bitter compared to the relative coziness of the car. He climbed through the window, then reached back in for his backpack. Sam handed him the backpack, then joined him in the snow.

"What are we gonna do about the window?" Sam asked.

"We'll grab the tarp. Cover 'er up." Dean was already moving toward the trunk.

Sam grabbed his backpack as Dean opened the trunk. Five minutes later, they'd divided the gear between their backpacks. Another ten and they'd managed to cover the window well enough that hopefully he wouldn't come back to a car full of snow.

With one last regretful glance at the Impala, Dean turned and led the way up the snowbank back to the road.

"Wow," Sam breathed out as he surveyed the scene before them.

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "Wow."

It was a scene out of a Christmas card. If people made Christmas cards of empty highways. It was a stark, unforgiving yet startlingly beautiful landscape. The sun was bright and the snow sparkled under its glow. The trees on both sides of the road were bent low under the weight of the night's snowfall.

"No tire tracks," Sam said, his voice hushed as if he were afraid to disturb the peace of the Christmas card scene.

Dean nodded. He'd hoped the plows would have been out by now. Motioning to his right, he said, "Might as well start walking."

They took off without another word.

It was cold and difficult travel.

Neither of them had winter boots and even with the extra pair of socks they'd both put on, the cold was soaking into their feet. They'd both bundled up in as many layers as would fit under their coats and he'd found an old scarf in the trunk to wrap around his brother's face. Sam had complained about the smell but Dean had forced him to wear it. They both had knit hats pulled down over their ears and Dean had wrapped one of his t-shirts around his own face to protect his nose and mouth from the bitter cold. Last thing either of them needed was to have their lungs explode. They had only been able to find one pair of gloves and Dean was wearing them for the moment while Sam kept his hands in his pockets.

They didn't say much for the first thirty or so minutes, just concentrated on staying on their feet in the snow drifts. The peaceful quiet seemed too delicate to sully with words, anyway. Any other time, he would have had more cause to find the scene beautiful and tranquil. Today, he just found it threatening and hostile.

The road was icy under the layer of snow and after they'd both fallen a couple times, they'd started walking along the side of the road instead. As they walked, their stiff muscles began to relax to a certain extent and they even felt warmer. At first.

Every once in awhile they found some snowmobile tracks and all they could do was hope that eventually they'd run into one of the snowmobilers. After an hour, they'd come across one car on the side of the road. It was empty and there were no footprints around which meant whoever had been in the cars must have taken their chances during the night to make their escape. Another hour and a half and they'd come across their third stranded, and empty, car.

"You think they all made it?" Sam asked, pausing to catch his breath.

"I hope so." Dean stopped when his brother did.

"Yeah. I do, too."

"How're you holding up?" Dean asked, looking his brother over carefully.

"I'm ok." Sam shrugged, messing with the scarf.

He was still on his feet, Dean had to give him that. His nose was running and the exposed bits of his face were pale as the snow underneath the flush of the biting cold. His eyes were pinched and he was shivering despite the layers.

Dean sighed and rewrapped the scarf for the five hundredth time. As usual, Sam tried to push him away.

"Get your hands back in your pockets," Dean ordered. "We agreed if I wore the gloves, you'd keep your hands in your pockets."

"Yeah, well, you're tying the scarf too tight!"

"Hold still. I am not. It keeps falling off and you're gonna wind up with frostbite."

He tightened it a little more before Sam could squirm out of his grasp. Dean caught him by the arm just before Sam face planted into the snow.

Pulling away, Sam said, "Come on. Let's go."

Dean nodded since there really wasn't an alternative option.

Another forty minutes and they were paused again.

This time it was for Sam to hurl his guts up and admit to the brutal headache he'd been pretending not to have. Dean cringed, holding tight to his brother's left arm to keep him from collapsing. For one thing, it was too cold to sit in the snow. For another thing, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to get his brother up again if he went down.

"Dude, you should've told me how bad it was." Dean was mostly talking to himself.

After a few more painful moments, Sam rasped, "Sorry."

"You should be," Dean said without heat. "Almost done?"

"Think so." Sam was panting hard, his breaths blowing out far too rapid puffs of air.

He straightened a little from where he'd been leaned over, hands on his knees. Even the blistered red of his cold face had gone a shade paler. His eyes were red and wet; tears clinging to his eyelashes like icicles on the trees around them.

"Swish and spit." Dean pushed a bottle of water at his brother.

Sam took it and did as instructed.

"Time for a dose of Tylenol."

"I can't." Sam swallowed hard, swaying where he stood.

"Crap," Dean muttered under his breath, tightening his grip on his brother's arm.

He rescued the bottle of water before Sam dropped it and started rethinking his strategy. Looking at the wintry road ahead of them, hopelessness fell over him like the warm blanket he wished he had. He had no way of knowing how far they had to go before they reached town and he doubted they were going to find anything  _before_ town. He should have thought to drag the sleeping bags along. They could have wrapped up in them as another means of warding off the frigid cold. Why had he been so stupid? Thoughts of building a fire crossed his mind, but a fire wouldn't keep them warm enough to save their lives at this point.

"Dean?"

"Hmm? What?"

"Can we...sit down...just for...for a minute?"

His instinct was to say absolutely not, but it was either let Sam sit down for a minute or he'd be passed out in the snowbank anyway, so Dean nodded. They'd been walking almost four hours by now and even he was more than ready to sit down.

Glancing around, he found a snow covered guardrail. It would be cold, but at least it was one step removed from actually sitting on the ground. He tugged Sam forward and brushed some of the snow off the guardrail.

"Ok. Right there." He guided Sam to the rail, then sat down next to him. "Just for a few minutes, though."

Sam simply closed his eyes, shaking badly.

Dean put an arm over his shoulders and pulled him closer. Sam moved willingly and allowed Dean to wrap both his arms around him. Once he'd collapsed against his chest, Dean started rubbing his arm and back, trying to generate whatever heat he could.

Now that they weren't moving, Dean realized exactly how frozen he was. He couldn't really feel his feet which was bad and every other part of him was numb. They'd both checked their phones about ten minutes ago but there was still no signal and Sam's phone was down to three percent battery.

 _We are screwed,_ Dean thought to himself.

* * *

The snowplows were doing their best, but John didn't need to be on the road to see how bad the conditions were. Of course, he was spending as much time staring out the window at the mess as he was staring at the weather reports on the television. In between his pacing, he kept trying to call the boys.

By now, he'd left more messages than he could remember and sent more texts than he usually sent in three months. By now, any and all question of whether or not the boys were in trouble had been completely quashed.

He  _knew_ they were in trouble.

They should have found a way to get in touch with him.

Sighing, he leaned against the table and stared down at the map he'd been pouring over for hours. He'd done the best he could to estimate where they were based on their last phone contact and what he knew of the route Dean had planned to take. He'd circled the area in black and hated how far away it was from where he was standing. Based on the weather reports, he knew things were still bad everywhere between him and that little black circle of possibility. The roads were bad and travelers were being strongly urged to stay home.

Well, he'd been taking their advice, but he was just about done with it. Just about ready to get in the truck and get on the road and find his boys. He'd been telling himself for hours that they'd call any minute. That the weather would improve. That he'd finally get through to one of them. He'd been telling himself for hours that everything was fine when he damn well knew it wasn't.

He shook his head, staring at the map for a moment longer. Even if he packed up right this minute and started out, he would be a day's drive from where he was  _guessing_ the boys were. He could miss them, he could wind up in a ditch, he could get stranded midway there. Too many variables. Too much room for error.

There was only one option he could see that might prove successful at this moment.

Slamming his hand down on the map, he yanked his coat off the back of the chair. The weather report was droning on about how cold it was and he had new cause to believe the report when he stepped out into the frigid air. A shiver ran through him as he pulled his coat on and zipped it up. He put on his gloves, pulled his collar up and got in the truck.

Turning left out of the motel driveway, the truck fishtailed and he gritted his teeth. The road conditions were every bit as horrible as the reports had been suggesting. It was a sobering reminder of exactly why he was about to do what he was about to do.

It was a sobering reminder that he was next to useless to his sons right now.

The trip across town took at least three times longer than it should have. He was creeping at a fraction of the speed limit and still was driving too fast for the conditions. The entire trip, he only saw one other vehicle on the road. Everyone was taking the warning to stay home very seriously.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, John pressed onward. Even with the heat all the way up in the truck, he was still cold. Worry distracting him again, he grabbed his phone while he sat needlessly yet legally at a red light at a completely deserted intersection. He called both of the boys' cell phones and this time was unable to leave a message on either.

_The mailbox is full._

He cursed and threw his phone onto the seat next to him. His pulse was pounding and what had begun as worry was now turning into full blown panic. Even on a good day, he would have been worrying about missed check-ins, but today was  _not even close_  to a good day.

After a nerve-wracking drive, he pulled into a parking spot right in front of the police department. He sat in the truck, staring at the building for a long moment. If he'd had any other option, he would have chosen it. But it had been nearly twenty-four hours since he'd had contact with his boys and that was twenty-four hours too long.

He got out of the truck and walked toward the door, hesitating just before he got there.

Standing there in the sleet, staring at the police department, John tried one more time. Maybe he was overreacting. They were probably safe and sound and he was being an overprotective, somewhat paranoid, parent.

But he got no answer from either of them and it solidified his gut feeling. They were in trouble. He walked forward and pushed the door open.

A rush of warmth from inside greeted him as he strode straight for the front desk. There was a young woman in a festive red sweater sitting at the desk and she glanced up as he approached.

Taking a deep breath, John said, "I need help. My sons are missing."

* * *

Sam would have been mortified to be held by his brother like this if his head wasn't threatening to explode. Between the walking and the bright, white snow, and the constant shivering, the headache had increased exponentially from what it had been before they'd left the relative comfort of the Impala.

The pounding in his head had helped distract him from how cold and tired he was, but now he was completely aware of all of the misery and he couldn't decide what was making him more miserable. The round of vomiting had escalated the pounding in his skull, but now that he was sitting down, the weariness was almost as painful. Add to that, the icy chill in his entire body, and it was a downright lousy day.

"We gotta keep moving." Dean's voice was whisper soft.

He was right, of course, but Sam's body didn't want to cooperate.

After a few seconds, Dean said, "Five more minutes."

Sam didn't respond, but tried to relax as much as possible as Dean tried valiantly to warm him up. While they'd been walking, Sam's thoughts had been consumed with figuring out how fast they would succumb to hypothermia. It was a morbid thing to think about, of course, but it was also a very important consideration since they were definitely at high risk. He'd tried to remember all the facts and figures he'd learned about hypothermia in science class, but his brain hurt too much so mostly he had been concentrating on  _if we stop, we die._

As a motivating factor, it had been working very well up until now.

"Sam!"

"Wh?" His tongue seemed as out of it as he was.

Dean shook him and pushed his head up, his voice deep with worry as he said, "You just zoned out on me. I've been trying to wake you up for the last five minutes."

"Y'said five more minutes." Sam was irritated by the way his words slipped and slurred together.

"I said that  _ten_ minutes ago." Dean gave him another shake, then his glove was on Sam's chin, pushing his head up. "You need to open your eyes. Right now."

The urgency in his voice had Sam pushing himself upright, forcing his eyes wide, readying himself for the threat.

"Hey, easy, don't go anywhere." Dean's hand was against his chest, holding him in place.

Sam squinted, glancing around the area and finding no obvious danger. He looked up at his brother for answers. Dean looked really freaked out.

"Sorry," Sam offered, not completely sure what he was apologizing for.

Dean took a deep breath, then sighed. Some of the tension eased from his posture and he said, "When I said we'd take a break, I didn't mean you got to take a nap."

_A nap sounded won-der-ful!_

"Wasn't a nap," Sam whispered.

"You're right. It was more like passing out."

"Wasn't that either." Sam pulled his hand from his pocket and rubbed at his eyes. The biting air sent his hand straight back to its warm hiding place. "Let's go."

Dean stared at him dubiously, but nodded.

Together, they dragged themselves to their feet again. Sam had to close his eyes for a few seconds to counter the headrush. Dean seemed to understand and waited patiently. Once things settled a bit, Sam tried to open them again. The snow was blinding, its sparkles skewering his retinas like a thousand blades.

"Should've looked for sunglasses," Dean muttered.

"It's ok."

"It's really not." A heavy sigh, then, "Just keep 'em closed. You could pull your hat down to meet the scarf."

It was a humorous suggestion, but Sam knew Dean wasn't trying to be funny.

"Let's go." Sam hated that he sounded like a whiny kid.

Dean didn't tease him, though. Just kept his arm around his shoulders and started walking. Sam kept his head down and struggled to keep his eyes open. He'd manage it for a few steps, then have to close them and rely on his brother to guide him forward. He was tempted to go ahead and try to take the Tylenol, but his stomach was still rolling and he didn't dare.

He wanted to stop, but Dean wouldn't let him pause for more than a minute every once in awhile. Every single time, he was forced to drink some water. Dean wouldn't take no for an answer and, so far at least, the water had stayed where it belonged.

"Sammy, stop." Dean's voice pulled him out of his latest daze.

"What?" Sam squinted at the snow, then lifted his heavy head up so he could look at his brother.

"There's a car. Down there."

Sam couldn't see where  _down there_ was, but he didn't argue.

"I gotta go check. Make sure no one's stuck in the car."

"Ok."

Dean was in front of him all of a sudden, his wind chapped skin bright red between his hat and the t-shirt he'd wrapped around his face. His hands were on Sam's shoulders as he said, "You gotta stay awake."

"I'm awake."

"Right now you are. You've been going in and out on me for the last hour and a half." Dean was breathing heavily, his words clipped and muffled. "The car's down a pretty steep hill, so it's gonna take me a minute to get down there. You gotta promise me you'll stay awake."

Hard as it was to keep his eyes open, Sam said, "Promise."

"Ok." Dean's eyes crinkled in a brief smile, then he straightened. "I'll be as fast as I can."

Dean pushed him back against a tree and patted his chest and then he was moving away.

Sam braced himself and watched his brother walk through a space in a torn guardrail. The car must have spun out and hit the guardrail, smashing right through it. The thought of a car spinning out like that and being thrown through a rail and down an incline reminded him all too much of their own terrifying spin out. The memory helped keep him focused.

So did his brother shouting his name every other minute.

"Sam? You still with me?"

"Yes," he called back, wondering if he dared try to cross the short distance between his stabilizing tree and the broken guardrail.

It would save both of them some effort if he was close enough Dean could see that he wasn't swooning unconscious into a snowdrift. The thought of being unconscious didn't sound too bad, actually, but no way in hell was he going to pass out. Instead, he summoned every bit of stubbornness he possessed and pushed himself away from the tree.

The snow was deeper here on the side of the road and it crossed his mind that perhaps crawling wouldn't be the worst idea ever; pride be damned.

He was just about to give into the temptation when he heard an agonized shout of pain.

Heart leaping into overdrive, Sam crossed the remaining distance in less time then it had taken him to stumble three feet from the tree. Every single step sent a blast of pain through his head, but the sound he'd just heard provided more than enough motivation for him to keep running. Because that had been Dean's voice, and the sound he'd made had been so full of pain it scared Sam.

Correction, it  _terrified_  him.

"Dean!" he shouted, falling forward against the guardrail.

The frigid cold of the metal stung his hands and shocked a gasp out of him as dark spots crowded his vision. Blinking past the darkness and the blinding glare off the snow, he tried to look down the hill. Tried to find his brother. In a wash of white, he saw a darker splotch of deep red. The car. Rubbing his eyes with one frozen hand, Sam searched frantically for his brother.

Once some of the darkness and blurs had faded away, Sam could make out the shape of his brother, lying at the bottom of the very steep hill. He was flat on his back, arms outstretched. Unmoving. From here, it was impossible to tell if he was breathing.

"Dean!"

_tbc..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on second thought, perhaps a cliffie wasn't a very nice post-Christmas present, after all. :) Apologies.
> 
> more to come!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! Hope no one minds if I post another chapter today. No complaints? Ok, then. here you go. :)

He could hear Sam shouting his name, but so far didn't have the ability to reply. Right now, the only sound Dean could make was a pathetic, low, keening noise with every breath he took. He might have been embarrassed, but he was in too much pain to care how he sounded. The air was biting his exposed skin and the hot tears he couldn't quite control were freezing against his face. Through the splinters of pain, he tried to sort out what he needed to worry about most.

His frozen face or the knee that he was pretty sure had shattered into a thousand pieces.

Or the fact he had a little brother out there somewhere who sounded completely freaked out.

Dean couldn't blame him.

He could still hear his own shout of pain echoing in his head. No wonder Sam sounded frantic. Dean fought to control his breath and force his eyes open. He needed to get himself under control.

_Now._

Finally managing to get his eyes pried open, Dean stared up at the cloudy sky far above him. The clouds were a deeper grey now; more snow ahead. Just what they needed. He blinked a few times trying to clear his vision and his thoughts.

He'd been a little over halfway down the incline when he'd tripped over something hidden under the snow. Attempting to do a graceful roll, he'd wound up tumbling head over heels coming to an abrupt stop when he'd landed fully on his left knee. Landed fully and hard _._

On a  _rock._

Pain had ripped through him and his vision had whited out.

In retrospect, it could have been worse. He could have landed on his head. Lying in the snow, his knee throbbing with red hot bolts of pain, wasn't doing much for his perspective on the subject, though.

Sam shouted his name for what must have been the five-hundredth time and Dean had a sudden vision of his brother tumbling down the hill to land in a heap next to him.

"Sam."

The word came out a helluva lot quieter and more strained than he'd intended, but at least it had been something.

"Dean."

There was relief in Sam's tone now which meant he'd heard Dean's weak response.

Dean fisted his hands at his sides, gritting his teeth and lifted his head just a pinch. Amazing how much just moving his head left him breathless with pain from the slightest pull on his knee. It took a few seconds for his vision to clear, then he caught sight of movement.

"Sam. No. Stay put." He tried to be commanding but just sounded like he was in a  _lot_ of pain.

"Dean, what happened?" Sam's voice was getting closer which meant he wasn't listening. "Where're you hurt?"

Dropping his head back to the snow, Dean cleared his throat and raised his voice, "Sam, stop!"

He was somewhat gratified to hear a startled gasp. Gathering strength, he lifted his head again and could see Sam frozen just at the top of the hill. He'd skirted the guardrail and had both hands out to his sides. His balance was probably still crap.

"Sam, just stay there." He cleared his throat again. What he wouldn't give for a drink of water. "I don't need you to fall, too."

"But-"

"Stay there." Dean pushed himself up to his elbows and broke out in a cold sweat. "Just give me a minute, will you?"

His words came out harsher than he'd intended for them to and he hated that the first thing he could see clearly was the hurt shock on his brother's face.

"Sam, I'm sorry. I just-"

"It's ok." Sam took a deep breath, shifting where he stood. "What happened?"

"Tripped over something. Landed on my knee."

Glancing at his legs, he halfway expected his left to be in two pieces. Everything seemed connected, though. No blood that he could see. But  _damn_ did it hurt. Dean pushed himself up a little more, his arms trembling as the pain spiked. Vision greying out, he lost all control of his muscles and flopped back into the snow.

He had no way of knowing how long he'd been out, but judging by the sound of crunching snow and Sam's tone of voice, it had been long enough. Sam had ignored his order to stay put, of course, which meant he was trying to make it down that hill on his own when he hadn't even been able to stand up straight a few minutes ago.

Or maybe it had been a lot longer than a few minutes; Dean was losing track of time.

Forcing his eyes open, he found himself staring at the door of the car he'd come down to check for survivors. There was nothing he could do about the car right now. His vision was still grey and foggy, his brain all but consumed with the shattering agony in his knee. Tilting his head slightly, he caught sight of his brother slowly making his way down the hill.

His mouth was dry and his voice rough as he said, "Sam, what did I -"

At the sound of his voice, Sam staggered to a stop and looked at him. "Dean?"

"Yeah. I told you to stay-"

"Shut up," Sam cut him off, struggling through the snow again. "Just shut up. You're not going to be able to move without help."

Dean thought about arguing, but what was the point? Sam was correct. He wasn't moving without help. He wasn't sure he was moving even  _with_ help.

"Just go slow, alright?" Dean called out. He struggled the rest of the way to his elbows again and this time didn't pass out. He kept his gaze on his brother. "Last thing we need is for you to fall and land on your concussed head."

"I'm not concussed."

"Pretty sure you are."

If Sam contradicted him again, Dean didn't know. He bit back an exclamation of pain as he pulled himself the last few inches upright. He squeezed his eyes closed for a few seconds, fighting to breathe as he rode out the wave of pain. Once it had settled a bit, he opened his eyes again and found Sam making a controlled slide the last few feet down the hill. He landed on his butt with a quiet  _oof_ which was a whole lot better than the way Dean had landed.

Once again, he was reminded of the reason he'd come down in the first place.

"Sam, check the car."

"What?" Sam croaked, still sitting in the snow. He looked dazed.

"The car, the car." Dean looked toward the red sedan. "I didn't get the chance to see if anyone's hurt or…"

His voice trailed off at the disturbing thought that he might be sending his little brother to find a dead body. Well, it wouldn't be the first dead body Sam had seen. Dean didn't like it, but they didn't have any choices.

"Oh. Yeah. Ok."

Dean returned his attention to his brother. His teeth were chattering and, even from this far away, Dean could see the way he was shivering. Sam pushed himself to his feet with difficulty; he'd drawn his gloveless hands up into his sleeves, arms outstretched for balance. He was unsteady in the deep snow, but made it to the car without falling.

"It's empty. Door's open," Sam said breathlessly, leaning against the car and peering inside. "On the other side. Driver's door."

Thankful there were no bloody corpses, he watched Sam struggle around the car. Frowning, he asked, "What're you doing?"

"Checking."

Sam didn't elaborate and Dean didn't press for clarification. The throbbing agony in his leg was getting distracting again. He gritted his teeth and shifted slightly, freeing his left hand to press against his thigh. A wave of nausea swept over him and he swallowed hard against the urge to throw up the granola bar he'd eaten for breakfast. The crunch of snow to his right drew him back to the present.

"Dean, you look awful." Sam knelt next to him, his voice soft. Scared.

"Yeah, well if you landed on a rock, I bet you'd look awful, too."

The eye roll he got made him feel a little better. Not much, though. Landing on a rock or not, Sam looked awful. The scarf had slid down again or Sam had been tugging on it. Either way, it wasn't covering his face. He was out of breath and couldn't quite keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time.

"How bad is it?" Sam asked. His hand shook as he held it up to shade his eyes.

"Bad enough. Need to wrap it." Dean took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm the chaos in his mind. They needed to get up and get moving again. He nodded toward the car and asked, "What were you looking at?"

"The tracks were fresh. Hood was still warm so the car was still running not long ago. Registration was for someone local. I think they...maybe they…" His voice trailed off and he squeezed his eyes closed then pressed both pale hands against his face. He started to crumple toward the snow as he whispered, "Dean…"

"Sammy, take a breath," Dean coached, finding a reserve of adrenaline that overshadowed the pain. He bent his right knee and shoved himself backwards until he felt the car behind him. Jaw locked, he reached out with both hands and caught his brother. Pulling Sam toward himself, Dean said, "Come on, come here."

It was awkward and less than gentle, but he managed to get Sam settled against the car next to him without either of them throwing up or passing out which was a minor miracle. Or a major one, considering how he felt and how Sam looked.

"You still with me?" Dean asked, patting his brother's chest.

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Sam sat up a little more, pushing Dean away. "Just got dizzy for a second."

"Better?"

"Yeah. How's your leg?"

"Swell." Dean glared at his knee. "It's not broken."

"That's something at least," Sam said, pulling his backpack off. He started digging through it.

Dean frowned and tried to still his brother's movements. "What are you doing?"

"Gotta wrap your leg."

"Hands in your pockets," Dean ordered, grabbing the ace wrap. "You're gonna get frostbitten. I can wrap my own leg. Just sit still for a minute, will you?"

Sam didn't look happy, but he shoved his hands in his pockets as he said, "We can't just sit here."

"We can. And we have to. At least for a few minutes."

Dean let the wrap fall to his lap and leaned his head back against the car. He knew Sam was right, of course. If they sat for more than ten minutes, the chances were pretty good they weren't going to get up again. They were probably already hypothermic. Sitting was good, but he needed to keep them both awake so he gently elbowed Sam.

"What were you trying to say?"

"When?" Sam already sounded half asleep which was a really bad sign.

"Just before you swooned."

That comment earned him a weary glare.

Dean tried to grin as he said, "Dude, you almost passed out."

"I did not." Sam elbowed him back. "I just got dizzy."

"Ok. Whatever. What were you trying to tell me?"

"Uh…" Sam squeezed his eyes closed, ducking his face further into his scarf. "Uh...there were footprints."

"Yeah. You said they were fresh. So whoever was in the car hadn't been gone very long, right?"

"They were from around here. The driver." Sam's voice was almost a whisper. "I think maybe...maybe they know where they're going."

Dean felt a slight stirring of hope. He started to unroll the ace wrap. It was a lot harder than it should have been, but his entire body was shaking with a combination of cold and pain and the gloves weren't exactly helping anything.

"Maybe you should take something first," Sam suggested softly.

"Not going to make much of a difference at this point." He glanced at his brother. "Maybe you should take something, though."

Sam just sighed, his eyes still closed.

"You're not falling asleep, are you?" Dean elbowed him harder this time.

"I'm awake," Sam mumbled. "If we fall asleep, we're gonna succumb to hypothermia. Mild hypothermia starts to set in when core body temperature falls to around 95 degrees Fahrenheit and it only gets worse from there. Amnesia, confusion, loss of consciousness...of course by then we won't know or care."

Dean didn't like the facts and figures and he didn't like how easily his brother could rattle off the facts and figures. Like he didn't  _already_ know they were totally screwed? Sam had to specify all the gory details?

"This is why you're always so much fun at parties," Dean muttered, untangling the ace wrap for all the good it would do.

"No, this is why I'm so good at research."

He had a point, Dean had to admit.

The ace wrap finally untangled, Dean leaned more heavily against the car, suddenly too tired to move. He closed his eyes, breathing through a fresh wave of nausea. Sweat rolled down his forehead and he was having a lot of trouble remembering why it was so important that he not pass out.

And maybe he  _had_ passed out because the next thing he was aware of was something shaking him. He squeezed his eyes tighter against the renewed pain in his entire body. The shaking didn't stop, though, and he reached out blindly, trying to connect with whatever was shaking him.

"Dean, please. Please, you gotta wake up."

His hand fell to his side and he managed to get his eyes open again just to stare into the face of his panic stricken little brother.

"I'm fine," he said, his voice nothing more than a whisper.

Why was he so tired? He closed his eyes again. Ice cold fingers tapped his cheek and he flinched away. The hum of a voice nearby was distracting and it took him a little while before he could focus on what was being said.

"I don't know what to do."

Dean shook his head, trying to clear the fog. Sam sounded close to tears and Dean had a sudden flash of memory back to when they'd been struggling along the road before he'd caught sight of the broken guardrail. He remembered all too well his own fear every single time he'd had to plead with his brother to open his eyes, to stay with him, to keep moving.

"Sammy."

"Dean?"

"Yeah." He forced his eyes open again. "I'm here."

Sam's hands were clinging to his jacket and his eyes were wide with terror.

"I'm here," Dean repeated, reaching up with a shaking arm to tug on his brother's coat. "Put my gloves on."

"What?"

"Gloves. Put mine on."

"But you-"

"I'm not gonna be able to wrap my knee, Sam." He rested his head against the car, blinking slowly as he stared at his brother. "You're gonna have to do it."

"Ok. Ok." Sam took a deep breath and gently pulled the gloves off Dean's hands.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Dean swallowed hard and said, "We have to get moving again."

"I know."

"I don't know if we should stick with the road or try to follow the tracks you saw. Guy could've been injured and not know where he's going."

"True." Sam sighed, his hands trembling yet gentle as he worked. "I didn't see any blood though, but I guess that doesn't mean anything."

Dean bit his lip to hold back the shout of pain that threatened to break free as Sam inadvertently jostled his leg. He doubted wrapping his knee was going to do much good, but figured it was better than nothing. The joint was already swollen and he had no idea if it was just severely bruised or if he'd done even worse damage. Despite the freezing cold, it hurt with a screaming pulse of pain. Even moving as minimally as he was right now left him breathless. He didn't want to think about how he'd feel when he tried to get up.

Sam's grim prognosis of what would happen if they stayed put sprang to mind and, to distract himself, Dean tried to focus on planning their next move. Following the road had been getting them nowhere. Hours had passed and they hadn't seen anyone and they had been making so little progress they might as well have been standing still. The fresh tracks provided an interesting possibility, but he was loathe to follow them only to find they led in circles or something. The fact the car belonged to a local was a good sign, but was it enough to risk leaving the road?

Between the cold and the pain, his thoughts were an ugly jumble.

If he made the wrong decision, he'd get them killed.

That was the only thought that stood out clearly.

A soft groan snuck out as Sam tightened the wrap. Dean could barely breathe.

"Sorry," Sam said for at least the tenth time.

Dean gritted his teeth, in too much pain to reassure his brother. Blinking down at his leg, he watched as Sam finished tying off the wrap.

He still didn't know what to do.

_Dad, I really wish you were here right now._

He shook his head. Despite what people often thought, being in charge was not all it was cracked up to be. Would have been bad enough if he'd been on his own in this mess, but he had a little brother he was responsible for, too. He really wished Dad was with them because he would know the right thing to do. The right direction to go. They'd been training their entire lives for stuff like this - well not quite like  _this_  - but he always felt so inadequate when he was faced with being the Winchester in charge.

A hundred Dad-quotes ran through his mind, all of them very encouraging and rousing. None of which made him feel the slightest bit better right now. There wasn't a magic solution to this problem. He was going to have to make the best decision he could and pray he didn't get them killed.

Taking a shaky breath, he said, "I think we should follow the tracks for a bit. Not far, just see if we can get an idea if they're going somewhere."

It would be risky. Steal energy they didn't have and potentially get them completely lost. Or it might lead them to safety. It was a calculated risk. Of course, the alternative was to try to get back up the hill and return to the road. In the shape they were in, Dean doubted they'd be successful in climbing the hill. They were going to have to hope the footprints lead somewhere, that was all there was to it. They'd be lucky if they made it another hour before one or both of them dropped and couldn't get up again.

He glanced at the sky, then at his watch and cursed. It was still early enough they weren't in danger of getting lost in the dark - yet- but they'd been sitting here for a  _lot_ longer than he'd realized.

_Not good, not good._

"Time to go." He glanced to his right and wasn't really surprised to find Sam's eyes were closed. He elbowed him and said, "Hey. Nap time's over."

When he didn't get a response he went straight past mildly concerned to flat out freaked. Maybe it was an overreaction, but given the circumstances, he didn't care.

"Sam. Open your eyes. Now." He ignored the way his knee threatened to rip in half as he twisted and gave his brother a shake. "Seriously, I will kick your ass if you don't open your eyes."

Either Sam thought it was an idle threat (which it was), or he was too far gone to hear anything Dean was saying. Wishing he was just being ignored but knowing it was more than that, he cursed himself for having zoned out for so long. He'd lost more time than he'd realized as he'd pondered their next move.

Fumbling with nearly numb hands, he pushed Sam's head up and patted his cheek, calling his name. It took another minute before Sam's face tightened in a frown, his eyes still closed. Relief filled Dean at even that slight sign of awareness.

"Sammy, come on, you gotta wake up," he said, unable to keep the fear out of his tone. "We need to get out of here. I need you to look at me right now."

Finally, Sam managed to get his eyes open and squint in his direction.

"Thank you." Dean took a steadying breath, trying to gauge his brother's awareness. "Are you awake?"

Sam nodded very slightly. His eyes slid shut for a second, before he forced them open again. He whispered, "I'm tired."

"Yeah, 'cuz you're frozen."

"No, because I'm  _tired_ ," Sam corrected, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"Well, you're gonna have to deal with it." Dean relaxed a bit, but didn't move. "You can't fall asleep on me like that. You just told me how dangerous hypothermia is and you've got a concussion on top so-"

"I don't."

"Don't what?"

Sam huffed, shoving Dean's hands away. "I don't have a concussion. It's just a headache."

"Crabby pants." Dean raised an eyebrow "I'm not convinced you're not concussed, but you're definitely bitchy."

"Sorry." Sam closed his eyes and slumped against Dean's shoulder. "I just don't feel good."

"I know. I don't either." Dean sighed, staring down at his knee. He elbowed Sam's side and said, "So. What do you want for Christmas, Sammy?"

Sam snorted.

"Seriously."

"Seriously, shouldn't we be getting up so we don't die?"

"Yeah, well I need one more minute to work up the nerve to try standing. What do you want for Christmas?"

"I don't really care." Sam shifted, but didn't move away. "We're going to be ganking a ghost anyway, so it doesn't matter what I want."

Dean had a feeling they wouldn't even have thawed out in time to hunt the ghost. He rubbed his leg, trying to summon the strength to move.

"What do you want?" Sam asked, sitting up a little more.

"Hm?"

"For Christmas. If we, theoretically, had a Christmas, what would you want?"

Smiling, Dean said, "I want to have a fireplace and a tree. Eggnog. Cinnamon rolls. Bacon and eggs. Pie, because why not?"

"So you want  _food_?"

"Don't really need anything else." Dean shrugged, picturing the scene of a cozy cottage filled with warmth and delicious treats and his brother and father, safe beside him.

"Isn't it supposed to be about getting what you  _want_?"

Dean pictured the scene again and said, "That is what I want."

Sam didn't respond.

"Alright. If you want to be a wet blanket about it, I'll just have to buy you socks." Dean elbowed his brother. "Come on. Let's go or we won't even be alive by Christmas."

"That's really negative."

"You were the one who was telling me all the horrifying facts about hypothermia."

"I hadn't even gotten to the horrifying bits yet," Sam countered, sliding forward. He frowned and asked, "How do you...uh...what do you want me to do?"

It was a really good question. One without a good answer.

"Just...see if you can get up first, ok? We'll worry about me next."

"Ok."

Sam moved until he was on his knees. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder and slowly pushed himself to his feet. As soon as he was standing, he put his other hand against the car and Dean grabbed his knee to brace him and keep him from crumpling straight back down to the snow.

"You alright?" Dean asked, hating that all the good he'd be able to do if Sam  _wasn't_ alright would be to catch him when he toppled over. Hopefully.

"Uh huh." Sam didn't exactly sound confident, but he was still standing, so that was a step in the right direction. He straightened and remained steady on his feet. "Ok. Ready?"

"I'm definitely not ready," Dean said, but he reached out and took Sam's offered hand anyway. "Let's do this."

* * *

Sam watched Dean struggling to get his right leg under him. Leaning down to help probably would have made the process a whole lot easier, but Sam didn't dare. His head barely felt attached to his body as it was; if he leaned over, it would probably fall right off.

It wasn't a concussion, he was sure, but it was definitely the worst headache he'd had in his life. The last time he'd had a headache  _almost_ as bad as this one, he'd spent a day and a half in bed with his dad and brother tip-toeing around the apartment and doing whatever they could to help. There hadn't been much they could do, but they'd stayed close the entire time which had been great because he didn't have to worry about them getting hurt or killed on a hunt and that had been the best thing about that miserable situation.

Despite the pain, Sam realized that was exactly what he wanted for Christmas.

The three of them together. Alive. Safe.

Dean tightened his grip and Sam used his free hand to grab his brother's belt as Dean groaned and struggled to move. His left leg stretched out and useless, he pressed his left hand to the car behind him and pushed up with his right leg. Sam braced his feet wide as he took more of Dean's weight.

Sitting still had been utter misery. This kind of exertion was absolute torture. Every breath hurt, let alone every movement. Thoughts of a warm, comfortable bed filtered in and out through the pain. The image of them all safely settled in a warm room became his motivating factor. It kept him focused as he pulled his brother to a standing position.

Dean was cursing pretty much continuously by now and if things weren't so horrible, it might have been pretty funny. As it was, Sam couldn't find it in himself to smile much less laugh. He kept his hand on his brother's chest, pressing him back against the car. If he let go, he was afraid Dean would go straight back down.

He watched his brother struggling to control his breathing, then glanced at the snowy scene around them. How were they going to be able to go anywhere when Dean couldn't even put any weight on his leg? It wasn't going to work. Decision made, Sam looked back at Dean.

"I think I should go and check-"

"No," Dean cut him off before he could finish his sentence. He sucked in a shaky breath, his face gone grey as he met Sam's eyes and said, "You're not going alone."

"Dean, I won't go far; just enough to get an idea if we're close to anything."

"Sam-"

"You can barely stand up," Sam cut his brother off this time. "Let's be logical here."

Dean snorted, his hand tightening on Sam's shoulder. "I am being logical. You're not going anywhere without me and that's final."

"You're being an idiot!" Sam snapped. Now wasn't the time for this fight, but he couldn't take it any longer. "Stop treating me like I'm a kid. I'm sixteen. I don't need your permission to do stuff."

Dean looked taken aback, but didn't release his grip. He shifted minutely and said, "I'm not trying to treat you like a kid, ok? I'm not. That's not what this is about. This is about us watching each other's backs like we do on a hunt. In case you hadn't noticed, neither of us is in very good shape right now."

Sam relaxed a little. Dean had a good point.

"We need to stick together," Dean said, voice softer, his grip a little looser on Sam's shoulder. "I'm not trying to be macho and just push through the pain or whatever. Believe me, I'd rather not move, thank you very much. But we gotta do this together, man, or we're gonna get ourselves killed out here."

"Ok."

"Ok?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "Can you stay there long enough for me to grab our backpacks, or are you gonna fall over?"

"I'm ok." Dean braced both hands on the car and nodded, sweat running down his forehead.

He wasn't ok. Neither of them were. But they'd already covered that, so Sam didn't bring it up again. Leaving Dean to hopefully stay upright, Sam cautiously reached down for his backpack. It seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, but he managed to pull it on without too much of an issue. Dean's backpack was a few feet away and he made his way toward it with slow, precise movements. Any sudden move and he was sure his head would fall off.

Grabbing Dean's backpack did nothing for his balance, but he managed to stumble back to the car without winding up in the snow.

Dean took the backpack from him immediately. Pulling it on he said, "Ok. We get to the end of the treeline and don't see anything promising, we turn around and head back for the road."

"Makes sense." Sam moved to Dean's left side and wrapped his arm around Dean's waist.

Leaning on him, Dean hopped awkwardly, his entire body tensing and an inadvertent gasp escaping him. Sam held his breath and waited. After a few seconds, Dean tapped his shoulder, and motioned forward with his free hand. They took an unsteady step without falling over. It was a good start. Each step they took escalated the throbbing behind his eyes and he could only imagine how much Dean was hurting.

Nevertheless, they kept moving. Dean started putting a little more weight on his left leg which helped. Their progress was excruciatingly slow, but at least they weren't dead yet. They didn't talk, both too preoccupied with managing their pain and continuing to force themselves to move. Sam was barely keeping his eyes open, but knew Dean was paying close attention to where they were going.

Together, they almost made a functional person.

"Well." Dean's voice was hoarse, his breathing labored. "We having fun yet?"

Sam laughed, regretted it, then said, "This is exactly what I wanted to do on my Christmas break."

Instead of laughing, Dean sighed. He tried to take a little more of his weight and said, "I'm sorry. Really."

"You don't have to be sorry. None of this is your fault." Sam tried to meet his brother's gaze, but Dean was avoiding him as they continued stumbling forward. "Dean, none of this is your fault."

"You're not the one who crashed the car."

"Someone  _hit_ us. You didn't crash the car."

"It's not just that," Dean said softly, his steps slowing.

"So what is it?" Sam slowed, too. Man, was he tired. Sitting down sounded like an amazing idea. "Dean?"

"I'm sorry that we had to drive all the way up here on your Christmas break."

"It's not a big deal. Break doesn't mean anything anyway. Holidays don't mean anything."

Nothing meant anything. Not really. It was all kind of pointless. Nothing except hunting mattered. Dad would no doubt be proud of him for that mindset, but it just made Sam even more tired.

"Are you listening to anything I just said?" Dean asked.

Blinking hard, he shifted his weight. Somehow he'd wound up leaning more on his brother than he was holding him up.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, I'm listening." He wasn't. He hadn't  _been_ listening _._  But Dean wouldn't like that answer.

"Damn it," Dean said, tightening his grasp when Sam started to pull away. "Stand still."

Sam did, but it was a bad idea. As long as they were moving, he could stay focused, but standing still just left him longing to sleep. He tried to sort through the facts and figure out how low his temperature was, but he was having trouble concentrating.  _That_ was a bad sign, too, of course.

"We need to keep moving," Dean's voice filtered back through the fog.

"You just told me to stand still." Sam squinted at his brother. "Confusion's a bad sign."

"What?" Dean's eyes widened.

"Confusion. It's a bad sign."

"A bad sign of what?"

"Hypothermia."

"Didn't we already have this conversation?" Dean asked, a shiver shaking him. "We are in so much trouble."

Sam was in complete agreement.

"Alright. Forget it. We need to keep going."

Dean took a step forward and Sam tightened his grip on Dean's belt. He was exhausted and Dean was barely able to hobble, but Dean was right. They had to keep moving or they'd wind up spending another night in the cold; this time without a warm car. They'd no doubt freeze to death without some kind of shelter. Sam started moving again, every step slow and measured. Without concentration, he would drag them both down. Dean was leaning on him heavily which meant he wasn't doing well. Stubbornness usually kept him from relying on Sam, but right now, he clearly didn't have a choice.

Every step they took, Dean was grunting in pain. At first, the sounds of his brother's distress helped keep Sam alert, but after awhile, he started zoning out again. He was aware enough to keep moving, but they could have been walking into a lake and he wasn't sure he would have noticed at this point.

"Sammy, I...I think I...I think I gotta stop." Each word was punctuated by a wheezing breath.

Dean stopped moving and Sam's blood ran cold. He struggled to brace his feet as Dean leaned more heavily against him.

"No, no, no...Dean, no, you can't stop. Please just keep going a little farther. Just a little...we gotta keep going."

"I can't." Dean was rooted to the spot. "Sam, you're going to have to go without me. Just keep going until you find help-"

"Dean, no. I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"No. Dean, I  _can't._ "

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, sounding just a bit stronger.

Sam sighed and said, "I'm really tired."

"Yeah, I know."

"No, I'm  _really_ tired." Sam sighed, not able to lift his head to look at his brother. It was pathetic and he was ashamed to admit it, but he whispered, "I don't think I can keep going. If you stop…"

"Sam."

"I'm sorry, I just can't…"

"Ok." Dean tapped his chest. His breaths were wheezing and unsteady. "We'll take...a break."

If it wasn't for the fact he was literally holding his brother up, Sam would have sunk straight into the snow right then.

"Gotta...find a place," Dean was saying, his voice raw and shaking.

He was looking for some kind of shelter and he needed help, but Sam couldn't get his eyes open. Every time he tried, he was blinded by the brilliance of the snow.

Dean took a halting step forward and Sam moved to keep beside him. If Dean could keep going, then he could. They made it a few more steps before Dean went down.

He dropped without any kind of warning.

Sam didn't stand a chance and was pulled down with his brother.

_tbc..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You really didn't think they were out of the woods yet, did you?
> 
> Was this ending a little better than the last chapter? No? oops. I'll try to do better in the future. ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning!
> 
> First of all, a thousand apologies for how long it's taken me to post this chapter. :( it's not for lack of trying, i promise. you can ask my beta who had to hold onto my sanity for me when all i wanted to do was shred everything i've ever written and go weave baskets or knit blankets or something. :) I'm not quite sure what happened but all of a sudden it was like i lost my mojo and couldn't write to save my life. I'm so sorry it's been so long and that now it's after Christmas and I haven't even made it TO Christmas in this story. hopefully no one minds spreading Christmas out just a little longer. ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoy despite the long intermission! :)

Sam did his best to keep them from falling, but Dean dropped like a ton of bricks. Even on a good day, Sam would have struggled to hold him up and today was definitely not a good day. He didn't have the chance to brace himself as they fell; his knees hit the ground hard, and then his chin did. The breath was knocked out of him on impact and his head exploded in pain.

He gasped, desperate for air, but it was as if his lungs no longer knew how to inflate. He couldn't move, couldn't think clearly, couldn't do anything but struggle for oxygen. Black spots danced in his vision and he squeezed his eyes closed as he fought for breath. He was right on the edge of passing out, but instead spent the next few minutes wheezing and coughing. Tasting blood, he coughed up a mouthful onto the snow.

The coughing only increased the pounding in his head. It took a few failed attempts before he was able to think past the pain and open his eyes. The brightness was a shockwave of agony and he had to close his eyes immediately.

"Sam?"

Even Dean's soft voice calling to him hurt. Sam couldn't respond, couldn't get his eyes open. He wanted to press his hands to his head but couldn't feel them; could barely feel anything. It wasn't fair how everything else was so numb and yet his head hurt  _so_ much.

"Sam."

If he could have found the words, he would have told his brother to shut up.

"Hey, look at me."

Sam made an effort to peel his eyes open again. If he did what Dean wanted, maybe then he'd leave him alone. Over the thunder in his head, he thought he heard Dean groaning. In pain? Sam tried to focus on that thought. Tried to remember. The pounding in his head was squishing all his thoughts and memories into mush and it wasn't until he finally opened his eyes again that anything made sense.

"Dean?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"Hey." Relief infused Dean's tone.

Blinking to clear his hazy vision, Sam caught sight of a trickle of blood making a red pool in the snow just above Dean's left eyebrow. There was a small cut there, no doubt from his landing on the icy snow. He was on his side in the snow, arms wrapped around himself as he shook with the cold. His face was creased with pain.

Brain still mushy, Sam couldn't quite put the scattered pieces of his memories back together to figure out  _why_ Dean was hurting.

He wanted to ask, but all he managed to say was "Dean?"

"I'm ok."

The reassurance was as good as a lie given the way Dean wasn't moving. At all.

"Sorry," Dean said, his lips turning up in a brief smile. It faded immediately, leaving him looking exhausted. "My leg gave out. Something's wrong with my hip. It's more than just my knee, man."

His knee. That's right. Dean injured his knee. They were walking...somewhere. And then they'd fallen. Suddenly being on his face in the snow made so much more sense. He pushed himself onto his side; his vision flickering in and out of focus for a few seconds. When the world stopped performing dips and rolls, he focused on the bloody cut on Dean's face.

"You're bleeding."

Dean frowned, pressed his fingers to the gash on his forehead, then grimaced. He glanced at the blood, then looked back at Sam and said, "You're bleeding, too."

"Bit my lip." Wiping his sleeve over his mouth, Sam asked, "You think anything's broken?"

"I don't know. Sam, you're...you're gonna have to keep going." Dean's voice was unsteady. "You...you gotta find help."

Mush turned to syrup and Sam's head spun as he tried to make sense of all those words. Why was it so hard to think? It took a few seconds of concentration before he boiled down what Dean had said.

_Keep going. Without me._

Unacceptable.

Sam stared at his brother and said, "I'm not leaving you."

"Sam-"

"You wouldn't leave me." Sam had absolutely no doubt on the subject.

"We don't have a choice." Dean sounded defeated. "I just brought you down. You'll stand a better chance on your own now. I can't help you and I can't walk any farther."

Fear sunk its claws into Sam's heart at the thought of leaving his brother behind.

He shook his head and said, "Dean. Please. Get up."

He sounded like a scared little kid, but didn't even care. He  _was_ scared.

Dean studied him for a long moment, then gritted his teeth and started pushing himself upright. He struggled out of his backpack and shoved it aside.

Sam swallowed hard and ditched his backpack, too. He sat up, his head swimming with the movement. Spitting out some more blood, he braced himself with both hands on the ground. Lightheaded, he fought not to flop straight back down into the snow.

Dean wasn't as successful and halfway to sitting, he let loose a shout of pain and fell flat on his back. Both hands pressed to his face, he was groaning and cursing. Sam held his breath, a sick feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. After a few seconds, Dean lowered his arms to rest at his sides. He stared up at the sky, shaking his head slowly.

"You gotta get up," Sam whispered, sinking his fingers into the snow. "Please."

Dean closed his eyes and said, "I can't."

The finality in his tone was terrifying. Dean  _never_ said he couldn't do something. Sam had no idea what to do, but he knew what would happen if he didn't figure something out.

_He's going to die. He's going to die and so am I and Dad's never going to find us because we're going to get buried under the snow and then we'll decompose and won't be found till spring!_

Thoughts spinning out of control, Sam tried to form words but his lips were tingling and his tongue seemed too heavy. He needed to say something that would get Dean to open his eyes. To move. He couldn't think clearly. Warm blood was running over his lips again and it turned his stomach.

For a minute, all he could do was concentrate on his breathing and fight down the urge to be sick. He tugged the scarf down from his face, suddenly too hot. Sucking in a deep breath, he blinked a few times. Everything was going fuzzy around the edges again.

They had to get up.  _He_ had to. He couldn't let Dean die in the snow. He  _wouldn't_ let him die.

He  _had_ to get up.

Just get up. That was the first step.

Swallowing hard, Sam managed to get to his knees. Settling back, he braced his hands on his thighs and said, "You have to get up."

"Sam." Dean shook his head. "My leg...I can't walk."

"I'll help you. I can do this."

"No, you can't. You need to go right now. Faster you go, faster you get back here with reinforcements."

There was logic in what Dean was saying, but all Sam could focus on was the fear that he was going to wind up getting lost and then they'd both die. He didn't know where he was supposed to go.

Dean's teeth were chattering as he said, "I want a hot blanket, hot chocolate, and it better be a dog sled that comes to get me. Got it?"

Sam smiled at the ridiculousness of Dean's request, then squeezed his eyes closed as a wave of dizziness swept over him.

"Hey. Open your eyes." Dean grabbed his wrist. "Sam?"

Opening his eyes seemed like the most difficult thing he'd ever been asked to do. And then he remembered what his brother was asking of him.  _Leave me. Get help._ Sam gritted his teeth, his vision tunnelling as he focused on Dean. There was  _no_  way he was leaving his brother.

Dean's lips were moving, but Sam couldn't hear what he was saying. Unsteady on his knees, Sam leaned forward and grabbed Dean's coat, pulling as hard as he could.

"Get. Up." Sam couldn't even hear  _himself_ past the ringing in his ears. Hoping Dean could hear him, he said, "Please. Dean, please."

Dean was shaking his head, saying something that Sam couldn't hear, but he was pushing himself up onto his elbows and that was the important thing. Sam kept pulling. All he had to do was help Dean up. Just get him up.

Another tug on Dean's coat brought him all the way to a sitting position. Now they just had to get to their feet somehow. Dean was talking to him, but it was like the volume had been turned down. Sam gave up trying to listen. Had to stay focused. Stay focused and stand up. Get them  _both_ standing up. Still kneeling and holding onto Dean's coat with his left hand, he managed to pull his right leg forward until he had his foot under him. He rested his arm against his thigh for a moment, trying to get his bearings.

"Slow down." Dean's voice broke through the fog. He sounded a million miles away.

Ignoring him, Sam tightened his grip on Dean's coat and shoved himself to his feet. His balance was crap, the ground was slick, and his feet went out from under him before he'd even managed to stand up all the way. He landed on his rear, lightning pain searing from his tailbone to the top of his head. The jolt tore Dean's coat from his numb fingertips and he fell backwards.

Dean shouted his name, reaching out, but he wasn't quick enough.

Sam hit the snow, vision momentarily whiting out when his head bounced against the ground. Arms flung wide, his breath uneven and gasping, he stared up at the sky. Black was crowding the edges of his vision and he almost closed his eyes, but then Dean's face was right above him. His lips were moving, but, just like before, Sam couldn't hear anything he was saying.

Drifting on the edge of awareness, Sam tried to watch his brother as he moved, but he couldn't turn his head. Dean was going in and out of his field of vision and it was making him sick to his stomach. He tried to say something. Tried to tell Dean to stop moving. His voice was gone, though.

After a few seconds, he was shaken gently and then ice cold fingers were tilting his head to the side and he could see his brother again. Could feel Dean's fingers touching his cheek, running over the back of his head, pressing against his neck.

Dean's touch was gentle, but his eyes were blazing and he was talking really fast. He was angry. Really angry. Sam couldn't remember why he was angry. Couldn't remember what was going on or what had happened. Fear enveloped him and he knew he needed to answer his brother, needed to get up.

He lifted his head an inch and the lights went out.

* * *

The news report droned on and on and it was flaying John's last nerve. For hours now, everything had been getting on his nerves. The snow, the voices of the newscasters, the fact he couldn't get through to either of his sons, the awful conditions of the roads, his own helplessness. Even the damn Christmas commercials.

He was dividing his time between telling himself not to worry and worrying anyway. Twice he'd been in contact with the police station since his initial visit and had been reassured that they would give him a call as soon as there was any news. There had been a lot of other reassurances, too, but they didn't do any good. He knew everything that could be done was being done, but it wasn't enough.

It wasn't enough because his boys were still missing.

Pacing back and forth across the room wasn't accomplishing anything, but it at least gave him somewhere to direct his anxiety. He couldn't stand to sit still. To just turn on a movie. To take a nap. To do  _anything_ except worry.

And then he stopped in front of the television. Scrambled to turn the volume up because he thought he'd heard the words he'd been praying for all day. Sure enough, the report was more positive than it had been all day.

_Break in the weather. Main roads reopening. Extreme caution advised. Travel conditions remain hazardous. Storm to dissipate further over the course of the evening._

"Time to go," he said aloud, the knot in his chest easing a little.

It took him less than five minutes to pack his gear and load the truck. Another five minutes and he was on the road. The conditions were still rotten and there were only a few other cars daring to traverse slippery streets. He drove past the police station without any hesitation. They had his number. If they had news they would call. In the meantime, he would be getting that much closer to his sons.

His phone was fully charged and the volume was still up as high as it would go. He had also set it to vibrate with any calls and tucked the phone in his shirt pocket where he'd be sure to both hear and feel any alerts. There was no way he was going to miss a phone call.

Gritting his teeth as the truck slid on an icy patch, he tried not to picture the Impala slipping and sliding. She was a beauty, but she wasn't built for winter driving. Dean was a good driver, but even a good driver could wind up in a ditch on roads like this.

"There's no reason to think anything happened," John told himself.

He'd been telling himself that all day and still didn't quite believe it.

Tightening his hands around the wheel, John wished he'd never heard of the ghost hunt at Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg.

* * *

"Sam!" Dean's head was pounding and his voice was nearly gone from shouting. The pain in his knee was terrible but the fear was worse. "Come on, man. You gotta wake up."

He shook Sam even harder, until his brother winced and groaned softly in protest. Dean stilled his hand immediately. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Sam. He needed to get a grip. Taking a slow breath, he tried to push the panic aside. Things were bad enough; he didn't need to make them worse.

Watching his brother for any other sign of awareness, he tried to remember how long it had been since Sam had hit the ground and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure if it was just the cold and exhaustion that was keeping his brother under or if it had been the smack to the head when he'd fallen.

They'd been in trouble before, but now?

Now they were totally screwed.

He'd known even before he'd fallen that he wouldn't be able to keep going much longer. The pain and weakness in his left knee had increased with every step he'd taken until he'd put just a pinch too much weight on it. Agony had shot from his knee all the way up to his hip and he'd all but passed out. The worst thing, of course, was that he'd brought Sam down with him.

There was no chance he was getting up again. None. He wouldn't be able to get to his feet. Not without help. Help that Sam was in no condition to offer him. If his knee hadn't given out, if he hadn't lost control, they might have stood a chance.

Shifting uncomfortably, Dean shook his brother more gently and called his name for what felt like the hundredth time.

This time Sam finally opened his eyes. They were glazed and unfocused, but they were open. Hope surging, he called Sam's name again, but got nothing more than a slow blink in response. A few seconds later, Sam's eyes slipped closed and didn't reopen.

"No, no, no," Dean said, tightening his grip on Sam's coat. "Open your eyes."

It took a minute of fighting, then finally Sam looked at him.

"Sam?" Dean asked, throat sore. He patted his brother's chest, trying to rouse him a little more. "Hey, are you listening?"

Frowning, Sam tried to say something. The blood on his lips stood out in vivid contrast to the death-pale color of his skin.

"What?" Dean leaned closer. Pain and fear were coursing through his entire body, making it difficult to think clearly. Or maybe that was the hypothermia. His muscles were cramping from the force of the uncontrollable shivering and all he could feel was pain. Shoving all that down, he pleaded, "Sammy, talk to me."

This time Sam managed to whisper, "What happened?"

"You tried to stand up and slipped."

Sam's frown deepened.

"Don't remember?" Dean tried to smile. "That's ok. Just stay awake."

"You…"

"I what?" Gritting his teeth, Dean inched closer, stopping when a new spike of pain shot through his entire leg. Whether his hip was just badly jarred from the impact or whether something more serious was wrong, he didn't know. "Sam?"

"You told me to go." Sam's voice was almost inaudible. He frowned in confusion and asked, "Where are we?"

"Uh, I don't know exactly."

Dean coughed, wishing he had the energy to find a bottle of water in his discarded backpack. He was so tired and gave in to the urge to close his eyes. Just for a minute. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself slumped flat in the snow. Too tired to even lift his head, he looked over at his brother.

Cold gripped his heart. Cold that was more frigid and more terrifying than the cold of the snow beneath his body. Sam was staring blankly up at the sky, his gaze frighteningly empty.

Closing his fingers around Sam's coat as if somehow that would prevent him from slipping away, Dean said, "Sammy, look at me."

His voice was too weak to be considered a shout, but the urgency must have come through clearly, anyway, because Sam glanced at him. He looked even less aware than he had just a few minutes ago and was so very still. He wasn't even shivering anymore. Dean's heart skipped a beat.

They weren't getting out of this.

The thought of giving up hadn't occurred to him. Not once during the long night. Not once as they'd struggled along the deserted, snowy road. Now, the reality of the situation was hitting him full strength and it was completely unacceptable.

He gritted his teeth, his muscles shaking as he fought to sit up. Braced on one elbow, he analyzed their location, searching for anything that could provide them with shelter. Something that would give them even the slightest chance of survival.

Nothing. They hadn't even made it to the treeline. Tilting his head, he looked behind them and his heart sank. He could still see the car. The one they'd been walking away from for what had seemed like hours. They'd barely covered any distance at all.

Trying to breathe through the disappointment and fear, Dean debated going back. They could take shelter in the car. Maybe make it a few more hours. But he'd have to drag them both back. They'd never make it. He wasn't strong enough.

Defeat slammed into him and Dean collapsed back to the snow. He stared up at the blue sky as fury coursed through his frigid veins. Hands clenched at his sides, his body shook; not with cold, but with anger.

_Stupid, stupid!_

It was his fault. All of it. He should have gotten them off the road before they were  _run_  off the road. Should have kept them from going off the road after they'd been hit. And then, if he hadn't been so stupid and lost his footing on the hill, he wouldn't have fallen and they might have made it to safety by now.

But he was out of options and had no ideas. No hope. No chance.

He tried to imagine what Dad would do without them. The thought scared him and he whispered an  _I'm sorry_  to the sky.

He faded out for awhile, awareness filtering back in when he heard a weak cough next to him.

_Sammy._

Tilting his head, he was surprised to see Sam looking his way. He tried to say he was sorry, but his throat was too tight. He'd failed them. He'd failed and now they were going to die.

Sam reached out for him.

With strength he didn't know he still possessed, Dean grabbed his brother and pulled him closer. Sam was heavy against his chest, his hand gripping Dean's coat. If there was any good left in the world, it was the sound of Sam whispering his name.

"It's gonna be alright." Dean wrapped both arms around his brother. "We're gonna be alright."

He closed his eyes and rested his chin on his brother's head; aware of every breath his brother took. Every slow, weakening breath. It was all he had left and he wasn't letting go. All Dean could do now was hold onto his brother and wait.

At some point, he stopped fighting to stay awake and allowed the darkness to pull him under.

And then something was pulling Sam away from him and instinct kicked in, bringing him back to something nearing full awareness. He tightened his grip around his brother as brightness assaulted his barely open eyes. He wasn't about to let anyone take his brother from him.

"No," he said, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. "No. Don't."

The words were unsteady and broken and it was like there was a knife in his throat. He fought against whatever was trying to separate them. Finally, he seemed to have won the battle and he squeezed his eyes closed, fighting to regain his breath. As he struggled to breathe, he began to hear snatches of conversation around him.

"...here to help...easy...just let us…"

Numb fingers gripping Sam's coat, he shook his head, forcing his eyes open again. This time he saw a face above him.

The face was dancing in and out of focus and making Dean seasick. He tried to ask a question, tried to ask who the face belonged to, but his mouth wouldn't respond to his brain's commands. It was pathetic, but all he could do was blink and hope the person hovering above him was someone with a car. They started to pull Sam away again and that was enough to snap him out of his daze.

"No." His tongue finally connected with his brain. Holding on even tighter, he glared at the blurry face above him and said, "Don't touch him."

"Ok. Take it easy, son. We're just here to help." The offending hands were pulled back. "My name is Joe Erickson. My partner here is Phil Jones and we're police officers."

Everything was still hazy, but Dean finally could see that the person talking to him had some kind of official-looking insignia on his coat. Relief hit him in a dizzying rush. He'd never been so happy to see a police officer in his life.

"Can you tell me your name?" Erickson asked gently.

"Dean." The knowledge that they were no longer doomed to die under a snowdrift snapped Dean's brain back into gear. He cleared his throat and said, "My brother needs help."

Erickson smiled and said, "Well, you're in luck. An ambulance is already on the way. What's your brother's name?"

"Sam."

Erickson turned to his partner and they exchanged a few words, but Dean couldn't keep track. Now that his brain had a reason to function again, he was being inundated with alarm bells. He shifted, trying to get a glimpse of his brother's face.

"Sammy?" He tried to give his brother a careful shake, but his hands weren't functioning right. Sam's lack of response to both his voice and his fumbling touch scared him. "Sammy, come on. Don't do this to me."

He was beginning to panic when he heard Erickson say, "Let us help."

Glancing up at the officers, he nodded.

"Any injuries we need to know about?" Erickson asked as his partner spread an emergency blanket on the ground next to him.

"He hit his head." Dean struggled to focus.

The officers spoke to each other briefly, then gently pulled Sam away from him. This time he didn't fight them. Turning his head, he watched the officers carefully ease Sam down onto an emergency blanket. He started to push himself up onto his elbows but sank back when his vision went grey.

"Hey, easy there," Erickson said. A few seconds later, he was back at Dean's side, spreading a blanket over him. "How about you? You've got a bit of a cut over your eye. Any other injuries?"

"Left knee." Dean shrugged. His knee was still throbbing, but he honestly couldn't feel the pain that much. He couldn't even feel the cold anymore.

"What happened?"

"Fell down the hill and landed on a rock."

Erickson asked him another question, but Dean's attention was on the second officer. Jones was hovering over his brother, pressing his fingers to the side of his neck and talking to him.

"Sam?" Dean called, trying to move closer but too weak to fight past the confines of the blanket.

Sam mumbled something too quietly for Dean to hear and shifted restlessly.

Frustrated with his inability to reach his brother, Dean asked, "What'd he say?"

"Your name," Jones said with a smile.

"I'm right here, Sammy," Dean said, shoving himself an inch closer. He managed to get his hand free from the blanket and grabbed Sam's arm. "You with me?"

Sam nodded and tilted his head slightly. He forced his eyes open and met Dean's gaze for a split second before his eyes slid closed. It wasn't much, but it was somewhat reassuring.

"Dean?" Erickson asked.

"Yeah?" He blinked a few times, trying to focus on the man; weariness overwhelming him.

"Can you tell me your last name?"

Dean hesitated, suddenly wary. "It's Winchester. Why?"

"Just wanted to confirm before I talked to dispatch." Erickson smiled and said, "There's a BOLO out for you and your brother. Came out of Ohio a few hours ago. Apparently someone's been worried about you."

Dad. It was the only answer there could be. He was the only one who'd known where they were going. But still, Dean struggled to wrap his head around the thought of Dad going to the police. They'd been out of contact for a long time, and the storm had been a bad one, but for Dad to go to the police...

He glanced at Sam, then asked, "You said there was an ambulance?"

"Yes. They're on the way."

"Good. We're a little cold," Dean said, though honestly he couldn't feel if it were true or not.

"I bet you are. How long have you two been out here?" Erickson asked.

"All day I guess. Stayed in the car as long as we could." Dean was too tired to try to keep his words from sliding together. He closed his eyes only to have a hand squeezing his shoulder a moment later.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?" He struggled to open his eyes.

"Try to stay awake," Erickson said, glancing over to his partner before looking back at Dean. "How'd you wind up down here?"

"Saw a car from the road. Wanted to make sure no one was hurt."

The officer raised an eyebrow and said, "I'm impressed. A lot of people would've just kept walking."

"You need to keep going the way we were." Dean lifted his hand from Sam's arm long enough to point, then returned his grip. "The driver is still out there. We were following his footprints."

"It's okay," Erickson said, pulling at the blankets until Dean's arm was no longer exposed to the cold. "We spotted the car after we got down here, and my partner checked the registration. Owner's address isn't that far from here and by the looks of the tracks, he was headed home. Another unit's checking on it now."

"How'd you find us?" Dean asked, desperate to hold onto lucidity. Weariness was tugging at him and he was having a hard time fighting it.

"We were working a wreck earlier when my eagle-eyed partner noticed your car. It was pretty much buried in the snow, but a quick check of the plates brought up the BOLO. We've been searching the area for you two ever since."

Dean nodded, but could feel himself drifting again. He forced his eyes open wide; had to stay alert, stay focused. He needed to make sure the ambulance got there and took care of Sam. He was struggling to find the strength to ask Erickson how much longer they were going to have to wait when he heard sirens in the distance.

Glancing at his brother, he was relieved to see Sam's eyes open. Dean squeezed his arm and whispered, "I call first hot shower."

Both officers laughed and Sam smiled.

It was the best thing Dean had seen all day.

_tbc..._

_**Bam.** _

_**End. Of. Chapter.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh i thought this chapter was going to kill me. I am so happy to get it posted! The really frustrating thing is that I had this story almost totally complete before Christmas...but then i just kept adding more stuff and changing stuff and then it spun out of control just like the Impala lol. Oh well, the muse wants what the muse wants. Hopefully it won't be nearly as long for the next chapter but unfortunately I can't make any guarantees. :) but i'll keep trying! I promise I won't leave this story hanging without an ending. Promise! :)
> 
> thank you for your patience and hope it was worth the wait! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! Merry...April? :)
> 
> I feel absolutely horrible for keeping everyone hanging like this, but you all have been so wonderfully encouraging and supportive and I SO appreciate it! The past several months have been very difficult. I've never gone through such a long stretch of not being able to write. getting a couple one shots done was helpful, but I just wound up completely unable to get this chapter done to my satisfaction...until now! yay! Thank you for your patience and I truly hope you all enjoy this very late chapter. :) I intend to get this story finished before next Christmas, i promise lol! ;)
> 
> Because it's been so long, I'll start with a little clip of the ending of ch 6 so we all remember where we left off. :)

** _end of chapter six:_ **

Dean nodded, but could feel himself drifting again. He forced his eyes open wide; had to stay alert, stay focused. He needed to make sure the ambulance got there and took care of Sam. He was struggling to find the strength to ask Erickson how much longer they were going to have to wait when he heard sirens in the distance. Glancing at his brother, he was relieved to see Sam's eyes open.

Dean squeezed his arm and whispered, "I call first hot shower."

Both officers laughed and Sam smiled. It was the best thing Dean had seen all day.

 

 

* * *

 

**Chapter 7**

Dean joked about getting the first shower and Sam smiled at his brother's humor, but found it difficult to keep his eyes open.

The police officer started asking about the accident and Dean's answers were slow and jumbled. Hearing his brother struggling renewed a panicky sensation in the pit of Sam's stomach. Just like when Dean had been unable to get back up after he'd fallen, Sam didn't know what to do. All he knew was that they needed to get out of the snow, out of the cold. He tried to sit up, tried to talk, and failed on both counts.

"Hey, take it easy," a voice from his right cautioned. The other officer. Sam couldn't even picture his face. "Try not to move."

_Try not to move? That's exactly what I_ am  _trying to do!_ Sam shook his head, trying to ignore the dizziness that assaulted him with the movement.

"Hey, just stay still." Dean squeezed his arm, his blue tinted lips turning up in a weary approximation of a smirk. "We've got a ride outta here, man."

"Not a dogsled," Sam mumbled, not even sure why he'd said it.

Dean's smile widened and the two officers laughed.

The man next to Dean was looking beyond them and waved a hand at someone. He smiled as he glanced back at them. "No dogsled, I'm afraid. But how does a ride in a nice, warm ambulance sound?"

Dean said something in response, but Sam zoned out. He was barely managing to stay awake; trying to keep up with a conversation was ten times worse. Of course, no one seemed to like it when he closed his eyes. Dean started yelling at him and the voices of the two officers blended into a hum and Sam just wanted to pull the blanket over his head and ignore them all.

And then there were even more voices, more conversations, more people touching him and asking him questions. Why couldn't they leave him alone? Didn't they understand he was tired?

"...and then you can get some sleep...few questions…" Words drifted around him. Obnoxious yet persistent. "...someplace warm. Ok?"

Warm sounded amazing. Sam opened his eyes and squinted at the faces above him. One of the police officers and a new face, talking too fast and too loud. He heard a groan of pain from his left and glanced at his brother. Dean's eyes were closed, face tight in pain. He was talking to a woman that Sam was pretty sure hadn't been there a moment ago. But he couldn't hear what was being said. Someone was trying to talk to him, too, gently touching his shoulder

"Can you tell me your name?"

Sam tilted his head. It was the new guy talking to him. It was an easy enough question so Sam answered.

"Alright, Sam," the guy said, smiling. "My name's Tyler. My friend Dina and I are here to help. Can you tell me if anything hurts?"

The question was simple and complicated and confusing and in his struggle to form an answer, he completely forgot the question.

"Sam?" The voice was a little louder now, a hand touching his face. "What hurts?"

"My head."

"Your brother said you hit it in the accident and in a fall."

"Not a concussion," Sam mumbled, wishing they could hurry up and get to the  _someplace warm_ part of the day.

"Sam, I need you to try to keep your eyes open, ok?"

It wasn't ok, but there was urgency in the man's tone. In the background, Dean was asking questions and sounding panicked. Sam squinted up at the face above him, then flinched away as his eyes were accosted with a bright light.

"Pupils equal, reactive." The words seemed directed at someone else, then Tyler squeezed his shoulder and asked, "What happened to your mouth? You've been bleeding."

"Bit my lip when I fell." Talking made it throb worse.

"Anything else hurt?"

_Everything else hurts._ "Just sore."

"I bet. Sounds like you two have had a rough day."

_Rough doesn't begin to cover it._

From that point forward, things started moving fast. Too fast for him to be able to keep up with even though he tried. People were talking about him, but they weren't saying very much  _to_  him. A bunch of words were thrown back and forth between the police officers and paramedics.

"...hypothermia...easy, slow and easy...got the heat turned up...we'll let dispatch know…"

The only instruction he was given was to  _let us do all the work._  They seemed to find that bit of instruction pretty important because they kept telling him to lie still every time he attempted to sit up or move. Their movements were gentle as they worked. After what seemed like a very short time, he was securely strapped to a backboard and they were moving.

It was disorienting and uncomfortable, but at least he didn't have to walk up the hill. The longing for warmth and sleep overwhelmed him. Knowing they were safe made it so much easier to give into the desire to sleep. Everytime he tried to close his eyes, though, someone was talking to him. Trying to get him to answer questions, to hold a conversation. He made the effort to do what they wanted after he heard Dean calling his name.

Once they were settled in the ambulance, it was a flurry of activity as more in-depth assessments were performed in the warmth. Tyler was talking him through everything as he placed an oxygen mask over his face and moved aside the blankets and unzipped his coat. Even though the oxygen was warm and comforting after hours of breathing ice cold air through a smelly scarf, everything else was still freezing. Tyler said something about a heart monitor and checking for injuries, but to be honest, Sam wasn't really paying attention. Head tilted, he blinked slowly, watching as the other paramedic took care of his brother.

"Just a couple more minutes," Tyler said, tucking warm packs against his body, "and I'll get you bundled up again, ok?"

He must have drifted off for a little while, because there was an IV in his arm that hadn't been there a moment ago, and warmth was beginning to spread through his entire body. The blankets must have been switched out because they were warm, too. Almost content to give in to the desire to sleep, he picked up on some complaining from the other side of the ambulance.

"Hey, hey, where're you going with that?" Dean sounded embarrassed and oddly freaked out.

Obviously, the other paramedic was positioning a warm pack and Dean wasn't fond of product placement. Sam almost smiled. Sure, maybe it was a little weird to have strangers putting things in sensitive places, but he was already warmer so he didn't really care.

Dean continued complaining, this time about the fact his jeans were being cut off. The paramedics were saying something about wet clothes and injured legs and Sam tried to remember everything he knew about hypothermia but drew a complete blank.

_Probably because you_ are  _hypothermic,_ his brain helpfully supplied.

Mentally shrugging, he closed his eyes. Dean's complaints continued, but he sounded calmer. It was comforting to hear his voice, even if he was complaining about almost everything. Complaining Sam could handle. Complaining meant Dean was alive.

They were alive.

They were safe.

_Safe. Safe. Safe._

His brain kept repeating the word over and over until every last bit of tension drained out of his body and he fell asleep.

* * *

Dean didn't generally believe in miracles, but the arrival of the police officers had been nothing short of miraculous.

Now they were safely tucked in a warm ambulance. His leg throbbed in time with his heartbeat, he was hungry, tired, and uncomfortable, but it was better than dying in a snowbank.

For the tenth time since the ambulance had started moving, he glanced at his brother.

"How's he doing?" Dean asked, his voice muffled behind the oxygen mask. The bulky mask was annoying, but the warm air was amazing.

"He's doing fine," Tyler said softly. "Still sleeping and his vital signs are stable."

It was the same report he'd received mere moments ago, but Dean couldn't help himself from pestering the paramedic. He was fighting his own battle to stay awake although he wasn't quite sure why. Taking a little nap sounded pretty great right now, but his mind refused to shut down.

He needed to stay alert. Had to figure everything out. He needed to call Dad.

He squeezed his hands into fists then released. Anything to bring some warmth to his fingers. The strategically positioned heat packs were helping, but he was a long way from warm.

"How're you, Dean?"

"Alright. Considering."

Tyler smiled and said, "Considering Erickson and Jones thought you two were dead when they first saw you, I'd say you're definitely alright."

Dean snorted. "I thought we were dead, too."

"A little Christmas miracle."

"Yeah." Dean's mood darkened. Tomorrow was Christmas.  _Merry Christmas._

"You boys on your way to visit family for the holidays?" Tyler asked, fixing something on the IV pump when it started beeping.

_No, we were actually on our way to visit a haunted island and gank a ghost. We don't really do Christmas._

"Something like that," he said aloud. "Dad travels for work so we were meeting him. I need to call him."

"We'll get that arranged as soon as we get to the hospital. Not too much longer now."

It was good news, but it also worried him because once they got there, he figured they were going to be separated. He strained to look over at Sam again and said, "Someone needs to tell me what's going on with him, ok? If I can't stay with him, then I need to know what's happening. He's just a kid. I need to be with him. Until Dad gets here-"

"We'll keep you informed." Tyler gently squeezed his shoulder and there was sincerity in his eyes as he said, "I'll make sure the staff understand. There's probably going to be a lot of activity at first while we get you both settled in and stabilized. We'll keep you in the loop, but it's going to take some time. The important thing is that you're both going to be getting the care you need."

"I just need to know he's gonna be ok."

"I think you're both going to be ok."

Despite the encouraging words, Dean couldn't stop himself from straining to look at his brother again. Sam was lying there, just as he had been before, perfectly still. So still Dean couldn't even be certain of the rise and fall of his chest.

A bolt of panic shot through him.

What if they'd missed something? What if Sam wasn't just sleeping but dying right there next to him. A few feet away and yet impossibly out of reach. Dean shifted. He couldn't move his legs and even his arms were almost completely immobilized under the blankets. He couldn't move. Didn't have any control over anything. Helpless and trapped and he couldn't get to Sam.

"Dean," Tyler's voice sounded far away. "Need you to take a slow breath."

Dean wasn't sure taking a slow breath would help anything. Even with the mask, he wasn't getting enough air. He didn't have time for slow breaths. Sucking down oxygen desperately, the pain in his chest only worsened.

_What's happening? Am I dying? I can't breathe. If I die, who's gonna take care of Sam?_

He struggled to move, to tear the blankets off, to sit up. Tyler was trying to talk to him but Dean couldn't hear him beyond the piercing hum in his ears. He bit his lip to keep from shouting as he tensed his leg and pain tore through him. Knowing he needed to calm down wasn't actually helping him calm down, but when he heard Sam's voice somewhere in the background, he finally began to rein in the panic.

Controlling his breathing took most of his concentration, but he tried to tune into what Sam and Tyler were saying.

"He's alright, Sam," Tyler said. "He's just having a bit of a panic attack."

Dean's face warmed with a flush of embarrassment.  _He_  was the one who was supposed to be the strong one. The one who was in charge. The one who never got scared. He needed to keep his head and keep his brother calm. Who was he kidding? Sam had been  _sleeping_  until Dean had disturbed him. But he'd just looked so still...

Sam called his name again and Dean found his voice and managed to croak out an  _I'm fine_  that didn't fool anyone. He blinked a few times, clearing his vision, then glanced at his brother and Tyler. They looked concerned but not freaked out so maybe he hadn't made as much a fool of himself as he'd feared.

"Feeling a little better?" Tyler asked, no hint of mocking in his tone.

"Yeah." Dean cleared his throat. "Sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," Tyler said, but Sam wasn't as forgiving.

"He  _does_  have to be sorry." Sam's tone was both teasing and tired. "He woke me up."

Heart still fluttering with anxiety, Dean smiled at the good-natured jab and said, "Didn't mean to ruin your nap."

Sam returned the smile, genuine concern in his eyes despite the teasing. "You done freaking out?"

"Think so."

"Good. Because I'm really tired," Sam said, staring at Dean like he was afraid something would happen if he closed his eyes.

Dean wasn't the only one worrying.

"We're almost to the hospital," Tyler said, jotting some notes on a clipboard. "You'll both be able to get some rest pretty soon."

Nodding, Dean's stomach twisted at the thought of not being able to stay with his brother and the anxiety he was feeling was reflected in Sam's eyes. Attempting a reassuring smile didn't make him feel any better and Sam didn't look reassured either but Dean couldn't do anything else. He was literally tied down under a pile of blankets.

He shifted, anxious to be able to move just a little, but even that proved too much. A shard of red hot pain speared through his entire left leg, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. No one needed to know how much he was hurting. Especially Sam.

All he had to do was keep it together for a little longer. A quick assessment, maybe an x-ray, preferably a hot cup of coffee, and then he could get things back under control. Make sure Sam was alright, then call Dad. Figure out how to get the Impala out of the ditch. There were probably a lot of other things he needed to do, too, but those were the priorities so he focused on them.

_Sam._

_Dad._

_Impala._

His thoughts went around in circles a few dozen times and still hadn't straightened out by the time they reached the hospital. Tyler was talking to Dina up front as the ambulance slowed to a stop. Dean glanced at his brother and found Sam struggling to keep his eyes open. Despite his battle against the fatigue, Sam's breathing had picked up and Dean could feel the apprehension coming off him in waves. He needed to say something,  _anything,_ to let Sam know everything was going to be alright, but his mouth was dry and his brain was sluggish.

Frigid air swept over him as the ambulance door opened. Any level of warmth he'd begun to achieve while he'd been in the ambulance seemed to disappear. The chill shocked renewed tension into his body and he again gritted his teeth against the pain in his leg. For a few minutes, everything was a blinding rush as he was taken from the ambulance into an exam room.

His head spun as people came at him from every direction, asking a hundred questions all at once. The noise, the lights, the rush all around him was overwhelming and only made him more anxious than he already was. He tried to answer their questions, but no one seemed to be listening. They just kept asking him the same things over and over, and none of it mattered. Not really.

There was only one thing that mattered. Only one question that needed to be answered, and that was the one Dean asked every single person who came near him.

"Where's my brother?"

* * *

John had just gotten back into the truck after refueling when his phone rang. It wasn't a number he recognized, but he hurried to answer it as he started the truck

"This is John."

" _Dad_?"

Relief punched him in the chest and he closed his eyes for a second. He could breathe again. Gripping the phone tightly as if it would prevent the call from dropping, he said, "Dean."

" _Hey, Dad._ "

"Are you boys alright?"

" _Yes, sir. We_ ' _re….we_ ' _re alright."_

John heard a faint tremor in Dean's voice and it tempered his relief with a fresh dose of fear. "I've been trying to call both of you. What happened?"

" _Uh...the snowstorm got bad_."

If it hadn't been for the way Dean was hesitating and sounding slightly unsteady, John almost could have convinced himself that the snowstorm had simply been messing with their cell reception. But he knew his son and he knew there was more to the story so he prompted, "And?"

" _And...we...uh...we got rear-ended last night."_

"You what?" John's heart jumped into his throat. All the nightmarish worries he'd been trying to hold at bay came flashing back.

" _The roads were icy. Someone sent us into a ditch_."

His mouth went dry and his chest tightened around a knot of fear. He stared at the heavy snowflakes falling outside and all he could see was the Impala careening off the road and all he could think about was the fact his boys could have been killed and he'd been hundreds of miles away.

Sick to his stomach, he repeated his earlier question with a renewed sense of urgency, "Are you two ok?"

" _We got a little banged up in the wreck."_

John's heart skipped a beat. This was bad. Dean was doing his best to downplay the situation, but the shakiness of his tone told John everything.

"How banged up?"

" _Sammy introduced his face to the dashboard."_

"How bad?"

" _Not that bad. He didn't even leave a dent."_ He was trying to be funny, but only sounded stressed.

"Dean."

" _He's ok, I swear,"_ Dean said, quickly. " _He never lost consciousness. Didn't break his nose and the doctor said no concussion."_

John tried to wrap his brain around what he was being told. They'd gone to a  _doctor_. They only went to medical professionals as an absolute last resort. Dean would have done everything possible to avoid going to a doctor which meant this was serious. More serious than Dean had thought he could handle on his own and he  _could_  handle a simple concussion or even a broken nose on his own. So something else was wrong or they wouldn't have gone to a doctor.

Thoughts beginning to spiral out of control, John asked, "What aren't you telling me? If it wasn't that bad, why did you take him to a doctor?"

" _Didn't have any choice, Dad. We stayed in the car last night but ran out of gas this morning. I thought walking to town would be our best chance. If we'd had more gas or if our cell phones had worked, I wouldn't...I would never have taken a chance."_ Dean's breathing was uneven, labored, as he struggled to explain. " _It was cold. Really cold. And it was a long walk. We were in the middle of nowhere. The police found us and got us to the hospital."_

A degree of panic he seldom felt began pulsing in his veins as he listened to Dean's disjointed explanation.

"Hypothermia?"

" _Yeah, but they said he was ok. I...I'll get to see him again soon. I told them I need to be with him. I promise I'll keep an eye on him. They just...they won't let me see him yet."_

"Why not?" John could think of a lot of reasons and none of them were good.

" _They had to check us both over so right now we're in different rooms but I made sure they're telling me what's going on with him."_

"How serious are we talking?" It had to be serious if they'd gone to the hospital. Hypothermia was nothing to be taken lightly.

" _They told me he's stable. They're just worried about complications because he's still really cold."_

John thought of the warm motel room he'd stayed in. The hot food he'd eaten. The comfortable bed he'd slept in. And then he thought of his boys spending a frigid night in the Impala and having to struggle in the snow drifts to get to safety. Injured. Hypothermic and alone.

He should have told Dean to stay off the road and not travel until the weather had cleared.

"Are you ok, Dean?"

" _I'm fine."_

"Dean."

" _Really, Dad. I'm fine. A little cold. Twisted my knee. Sore. Nothing to worry about."_

John didn't tell his son that most days all he did was worry. He cleared his throat and said, "Twisted your knee. How badly?"

" _Not that bad. It's not a big deal."_

It probably was a big deal if Dean was saying it wasn't.

Taking a deep breath, John shook the map out and asked, "Where are you? Right now, where are you?"

Dean gave him the name of the town and the hospital.

John pinpointed the location of the town and cursed silently. Too far, too far. He needed to be there  _now._ But with the weather and road conditions, there was no way to know how long it would take him to get there, but he determined to get there in half the time it would take anyone else.

"I want to talk to the doctor."

" _She wanted to talk to you, too, once we got ahold of you. We're still in the emergency room and they're talking about keeping us overnight for observation."_ Dean was trying to sound annoyed, but only sounded dismayed.

"Is the doctor there right now?" John asked, needing some objective data. Dean wasn't telling him everything. Wasn't telling him much of  _anything_ , in fact.

Dean spoke to someone in the background, then said, " _She's in with another patient right now, but as soon as she's free, she'll call you."_

"Ok."

" _When do...do you think you'll be here tonight?"_

"Depends on the roads. They haven't been great."

" _Tell me about it."_ Dean laughed.

John smiled a little, relieved to hear his son laugh. He set the map aside and said, "I'm going to get to you boys as soon as I can. Headed to you right now."

" _Ok. We're not going anywhere. I'm just waiting for them to do the x-ray on my knee then I'll check out and..."_

"You said they were going to admit you both for observation."

" _Yeah, they want to, but I'm not going to sit around being observed. I'll stay with Sammy and if anyone wants to observe me, they can observe me sitting with Sammy."_

Rolling his eyes, John said, "If they want you to stay, you're staying."

" _Dad-"_

"Dean."

" _I'm alright, really. Just sore. I'm not a kid. I don't need to be admitted."_

"Obviously, the doctor thinks you do." John tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pulled out onto the road. "So you're staying."

" _Dad."_ This time there was less argument, more plea in his tone. " _I need to_ …"

"The only thing you need to do is let the doctors do what they need to for both of you. They're taking care of Sammy and you need to let them."

Dean sighed and said, " _I'm sorry about all of this. The car, the…"_

"You don't need to apologize for anything," John said, not caring if the Impala was in a thousand pieces. "You boys are alive and that's all that matters. We'll figure everything else out later, ok? For now, you're gonna do whatever the doctors say. Understood?"

" _Yes, sir."_ There was no fight left in his voice.

John frowned; had Dean sounded that exhausted this entire time? It had no doubt been a very long day for him and it would probably be best to just let him go so he could try to get a little rest. But no one rested in an emergency room and, after hours of worry, John wasn't quite ready to lose contact with his son.

"You did good, Dean. Getting you and your brother to safety."

" _Would have been better if I hadn't wound up in the ditch,"_ Dean said bitterly.

"You said someone hit you. Not much you can do about that, especially on icy roads. Was the other driver injured?"

" _I don't know. They didn't hang around."_

Blood boiling, John asked, "They  _left_  you in the ditch?"

" _Never even stopped. I had to talk to the police. They say they're looking into it, but I doubt they'll be able to find them."_  There was some noise in the background, then Dean said, " _Hey, Dad?"_

"Yeah?"

" _They want to do the x-ray now."_

"Ok. Call me if anything changes with you or your brother," he said, turning on the windshield wipers. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

" _Thanks, Dad. We'll see you later."_

The line went dead.

Gritting his teeth, John focused on the snowy road ahead.

_tbc..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope it was an enjoyable chapter! :) Have a great day!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! :) Surprise, new chapter!

 

* * *

**Chapter 8**

John had been worried before, but with every passing mile, his anxiety only increased. Knowing his boys were alive had taken the edge off his fear, but the fact they were in an emergency room in an entirely different state left his stomach in knots and his hands white knuckling the steering wheel.

The slick roads and abysmal visibility made it impossible to drive anywhere near as fast as he wanted to. It would do his boys no good if he wound up crashing on his way to the hospital. He had to focus on the road. Had to be more careful than he'd ever been because he was  _not_ going to fail them again.

His phone rang and he almost veered off the road into a tree.

Wrenching the wheel, he corrected the truck on the slippery road and answered the call.

"This is John."

" _Hello, this is Dr. Peterson."_

"How are my sons?" Now wasn't the time to beat around the bush.

Thankfully, the doctor seemed to be of the same opinion.

" _Your sons are both safe and receiving the care they need."_

"Dean said you wanted to keep them for observation."

" _Yes. At least through the night."_

"Details. How are they?"

" _They're both dehydrated and suffering from hypothermia and hypoglycemia. We're administering warmed IV fluids with glucose to combat all three of those issues."_

It was a good thing he'd already spoken to Dean or John would have been losing his mind at what he was hearing. He forced down the rising worry and asked, "Is it helping? What you're doing?"

" _Yes. They're both showing signs of improvement. Dean in particular is very eager to part company with us."_

"I could tell when I talked to him." John chuckled despite the situation. "He said he was getting an x-ray of his leg?"

" _Yes. He took a bad fall and landed on his knee. Nothing was dislocated, and the x-ray revealed no fractures, however, given the significance of the swelling and bruising, I suspect a bone bruise. He's in severe pain all the way to his hip and won't be putting any weight on that leg for awhile. If his symptoms worsen or fail to improve, I would suggest doing an MRI, but at this point I don't feel it is necessary."_

And of course Dean hadn't said anything about the severity of his injury. "He's not injured in any other way? From the accident?"

" _He sustained some other more minor bruises and abrasions, but nothing worse. He's in fair condition right now; his vital signs are stable and his temperature has improved since he was brought in, although he's still hypothermic._ "

"And Sammy? Dean said he didn't have a concussion."

" _He doesn't. Some facial bruising, but no breaks and no concussion."_

"So he's ok?"

" _We're monitoring him closely."_

His chest tightened. "That's not the same thing as ok."

" _Sam's condition is still serious. He's been in and out of consciousness since they arrived and his vital signs haven't fully stabilized."_

"Which means?" John asked through gritted teeth.

" _Which means we're doing everything we can to bring his temperature up."_

For the next few minutes, John listened as the doctor went over everything in more detail. Every word only served to amp up his tension. The miles between him and the hospital seemed to only be increasing.

"I want to talk to him," he finally said, when she paused. "I want to talk to Sam."

" _Certainly. Try to keep your conversation brief. It's important to keep him calm. Hypothermia can take a toll on the heart_."

He listened to her, tried to pay attention, but was far too worried about his sons to be able to process any additional information. He really,  _really_ needed to be at the hospital already. There was some background noise and then

" _Dad_?"

"Sammy." John let out the breath he'd been holding.

" _Dad. We got run off the road."_ Sam's voice was weak, muffled. Distressed. " _Dean's...he's hurt._ "

"I know, son. I talked-"

" _They won't let me...see him."_

He was out of breath after only a few words and John needed to wrap this conversation up much more quickly than he wanted to.

" _You...you have to...hurry. Dad."_

"Sam, I'm on my way." He was trying for a balance between confident and calm but all he heard was his own fear. "Dean's ok. I talked to him."

" _You did?_ "

"Yes. He's ok."

" _They won't let me see him."_ He sounded near tears which was as shocking as it was concerning.

So much for keeping him calm.

"Sammy, listen to me, ok? I talked to Dean and he's going to be fine." John paused. Waiting for a reply. All he heard was uneven breaths. "Sammy?"

" _Yeah."_

"You hear me? Dean's ok?"

" _Dean's ok."_ This time there was a touch more coherence and a degree less panic. He was pulling himself together.

"Yes. And I'm coming for you boys. Just try to rest till I get there, ok?" John was back to holding his breath.

After a few seconds, he heard a soft, " _Yes, sir_."

"Alright. Let me talk to the doctor."

" _Mr. Winchester?"_

"Doc, you need to get Dean in to see his brother."

" _That's not-"_

"You need to make it happen. Now. You want to keep them calm? You need to get them in the same room."

The doctor went off on a whole lot of medical mumbo jumbo that John had absolutely no patience for.

"Make it happen," he said, then ended the call.

* * *

As soon as they'd arrived at the hospital, Dean had been taken away from him and Sam had found himself alone in a swirl of confusion.

Logically, he knew Dean was likely only a room or two away from him in the emergency department. Illogically, he feared they'd been separated because Dean was dying. All he could think about was the moment Dean had crashed face first into the show; unable to get up, unable to keep moving. The helplessness he'd felt at that moment had plagued him the entire time he'd been in the hospital; being unable to talk to his brother hadn't helped anything.

Whenever he asked about Dean, no one would answer him with anything less vague than  _your brother is fine._ Well, Sam had seen his brother and Dean was not fine. That much was a fact. The only question that remained was  _how_ not fine Dean was. That was the answer no one wanted to give him.

Sam didn't know how long they'd been in the emergency room. Everything was muddled and confusing and it wasn't easy to hold onto a thought for more than a few seconds.

Forcing his eyes open again, Sam stared at the doorway. There was activity beyond the door of the cubical he was in, but he didn't know what any of it meant. There was activity in the room, too. People talking to him, talking over him. Talking about him.

So much was happening all at once that it was overwhelming. He wouldn't admit it to anyone  _ever_ , but he was scared. Legitimately scared. More scared than he'd been on their last hunt, in fact.

At least on the hunt, Dean had been right next to him the whole time and Dad had been watching out for them. Now, he was completely alone. Dad was who knew where and Dean was in another room and could be dying for all Sam knew.

The thought alone made his chest hurt and he tried to struggle upright again only to be held down by gentle, yet persistent hands. Every time he tried to move, someone was telling him to stay still.

"Dean," he said, trying to pull the oxygen mask off.

"Your brother is fine, Sam." Someone eased him back against the pillows and tugged his hand away from the mask. "Try to relax."

"I want to see him."

He'd heard Dad tell the doctor to let them be together. Sam had nothing to cling to except for the comforting memory of the determination in his father's voice. The staff in the room, though, didn't seem to have gotten the memo because they sure hadn't done anything about getting him in to see his brother.

"Soon." They'd said that a dozen times at least.

"Please."

The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile and he tuned out her patronizing words. He'd heard them all a hundred times by now. Everyone was treating him like he was some dumb little kid and it was tempting to tell them he was fully competent with an array of firearms and fighting techniques.

He focused on himself, trying to gauge if he could pull off an escape. It didn't seem very likely, unfortunately. For one thing, he was tangled up in wires and IV tubing and the oxygen mask and buried under a pile of blankets. For another thing, just lifting his head sent the room spinning. Lightheaded, he sank back into the pillow; not sure if it was the low blood sugar or the hypothermia at fault. Either way, he was definitely not going anywhere anytime soon.

Despite the blankets, warm oxygen and warm IV fluids, the cold seemed to have sunk straight into his bones if not into his very soul. The cold didn't bother him like the separation did, though. If he could just  _see_ his brother, he'd be able to relax a little. Their phones were still charging so he couldn't even call Dean.

He hated it. The feeling of being completely powerless did not sit well with him, but as usual, he had no control over anything. He didn't even have control over how his brain kept blanking out on him every other minute.

Even though he was a lot more alert after talking to Dad, it was difficult to stay focused on anything for more than a minute or two. The doctor had told him he didn't have a concussion, but that didn't mean he didn't have a headache. He struggled to get a hand free from the blankets and tangles of cords and IV lines. Rubbing his forehead, he closed his eyes as a shiver ran through him. He figured it was a good sign. Meant he was finally warming up. Didn't mean it  _felt_ good.

He tucked his hand back under the covers and closed his eyes, fighting the exhaustion.

It would be so easy to just let go of the fight and fall asleep, but he couldn't. Not yet. Not until he'd seen his brother. Not until he knew Dean was really ok.

Eyes closed, the voices around him seemed amplified. He didn't want to listen to them; didn't care what they were saying, but he couldn't completely tune them out. Something was said about tomorrow being Christmas and he blinked.

Christmas. He'd forgotten tomorrow was Christmas.

The car was in a ditch. They were in the hospital. Dad was still hours away on icy roads.

And it was Christmas.

Somehow the realization just made him feel that much more miserable.

* * *

Dean attempted to muffle another groan and maintain his poker face. He probably failed on both counts given the expression on the nurse's face. She wasn't laughing at him; not really. But she looked slightly, annoyingly amused nonetheless.

The pain was excruciating even if the official report was that he hadn't broken anything. Just had a bone bruise; whatever that was. He had almost refused the x-ray in the first place.  _Would_ have refused if his refusal would have gotten him to see his brother sooner. But nothing seemed to be getting him in to see his brother.

Even unbroken, his leg hurt like hell. He was getting some of the good drugs now that they'd deemed him more or less stable, but was still waiting for the meds to kick in. And waiting, and waiting, and waiting...

He knotted the blanket in his hands and stared out at the bustle beyond the door of his room, then glanced at the clock. They'd been here for nearly three hours now. Ok, two hours and forty-two minutes. He'd talked to dad almost thirty minutes ago, but hadn't seen his brother in two hours and forty-two minutes and he was losing both his patience and his mind.

Regardless of what he'd promised Dad, he was less than five minutes away from demanding whatever forms it would take to get him discharged from the ER. He wasn't going to be putting weight on his leg any time soon, but he'd hop on one leg all the way to his brother if necessary.

Losing the warmth of the IV fluids and warming blanket would suck, but nothing sucked as much as not knowing what was happening to his brother. He'd been able to lose the warmed oxygen before the x-ray and could tell the difference without it.

He was cold. Like cold-to-the-bones cold. Cold like he'd never been before in his life. Even though he'd been out of the weather for almost three hours, he still felt like he was sitting in a snowbank. The shivering had started a little while ago and was assaulting him with a vengeance. He'd asked for some coffee and had yet to see a steaming warm beverage delivered. Pouring some hot caffeine down his throat sounded like a great way to get warm. To say nothing of waking up.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and shook his head. It didn't do much to wake him up, but he pretended it did and, as soon as the nurse stepped out of the room, he tested himself to see if he could move.

Not really.

The bolt of pain that shot through his leg was enough to make him cry out in shock and agony. Thankfully, he didn't have an audience and could humiliate himself all alone. Which he did. Even shed a few begrudging tears. Breaking his leg couldn't possibly feel worse than this. It just couldn't.

He was still trying to get himself under control when the doctor walked into the room. She was wearing an expression of trepidation and looked flustered.

Heart jolting, Dean practically shouted, "What's wrong with Sam?"

The doctor flinched, stared at him blankly for a tense moment, then said, "Sam is fine."

It was the same patronizing lie he'd heard a hundred times.

"I spoke with your father," the doctor said and Dean relaxed to a degree. Maybe her chat with Dad was the main reason she looked upset. The doctor took a second to arrange her features into the polite but unruffled expression she'd been wearing earlier. "Your father believes that it would be best for you to be moved to the same room as your brother."

Dean snorted. "I've been telling you people that since I got here."

The unruffled professionalism flickered a bit; he was probably the kind of patient she absolutely hated to have to deal with. But she smiled and said, "Now that we have you both stabilized, I am comfortable moving you to an observation room where you can be more settled for the night."

"Excellent." He wanted to move;  _really_ wanted to move, but didn't dare. "Get me some crutches or something."

Instead of crutches, though, the move was accomplished with him in the bed feeling utterly ridiculous. Any sense of embarrassment was easily forgotten when he caught sight of his brother.

At that point, all he felt was worry.

"Sammy," Dean said, as he was pushed into the room.

"Dean?" Sam tilted his head, blinking hard like he'd been asleep.

"Hey. You look like you're from outer space, dude." Dean grinned despite the gnawing worry.

His assessment wasn't far off. Sam was buried under blankets and had a bulky oxygen mask over his face. There were wires and monitors and IV tubing everywhere. Trussed up as he was, Sam was making a valiant effort to push himself upright.

"Sit still, Rocket Man," Dean said as a nurse gently put a hand out to hold Sam in place. "We're not going anywhere."

"They wouldn't tell me anything." Sam's voice was muffled behind the mask, but his displeasure at being left in the dark came through loud and clear.

Glancing at the nurse, Dean leveled a mild glare and she quickly said, "We've been keeping him posted as best we could. Told him you were fine."

Since he'd been getting the same kind of report, Dean could sympathize with his brother. Being told someone was fine was very different than seeing it with your own two eyes. Especially when the last time you saw that someone they'd been half-dead in the snow.  _Well, half dead in an ambulance,_ Dean corrected. Details.

He shook his head and said, "I'm here now."

Until he said it aloud, Dean hadn't realized exactly how much he had needed to see his brother. Sam looked awful but relieved and Dean felt the same way.

The nurses bustled around for a few more minutes, then they were finally left in peace.

"Are you ok?" Sam asked before Dean could.

"I'm great." With the meds finally kicking in, he actually did feel great. Frozen still, but great.

"How's your leg?"

"It's fine."

"Broken?"

"No."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"It's just bruised." Dean decided to leave it at that rather than admitting it was a bit more complicated. Last thing he needed was for Sam to grill the medical staff about bone bruises. He gently patted his leg. It was somewhere approaching comfortably numb. "I'm not lying to you."

"You sure were a big, whiny baby about it."

Dean would have laughed or replied to the jab in kind, but he was too worried about the way Sam seemed to be having trouble focusing on him. Concussion or not, he looked out of it. Maybe he was just tired. Dean could relate. He was exhausted and would gladly give in to sleep as soon as he was completely reassured his brother was alright.

"Seriously, how are you feeling?" he asked, wishing he wasn't quite so trapped in the bed. He needed to be closer.

Sam shrugged under the blankets. "I'm cold."

"Yeah. That's a given. Why can't you keep your eyes open? Are you just that tired or what?"

Another shrug.

"Sam."

"I'm cold and tired and hungry and I have a massive headache. Happy?"

Well, no. Dean was the opposite of happy. But the fact that Sam was coherent enough to be complaining that much did make him feel a little better.

"Did you tell them you've got a headache?" Dean asked, his tone softer than before.

Another shrug. Dean was getting really sick of shrugs. His frustration must have shown on his face because Sam quickly spoke up.

"They asked me a hundred questions, Dean. Pretty sure I mentioned it at some point." There was nothing but exhaustion in his tone. He rubbed his forehead, then quickly tucked his hand back under the blanket. His shivers were visible despite the layers of bedding he was buried under.

"Did they give you something for it?"

"Dunno." Sam closed his eyes. "Can't keep track of anything."

Frowning, Dean hit the call light. "I'll check with somebody."

Sam didn't respond and Dean wasn't completely sure if Sam hadn't just fallen asleep in front of his eyes.

Fifteen minutes later, the nurse had been in and out again and Dean had received the detailed report he'd been trying to get since they'd been separated. The report was generally favorable and helped allay a lot of his worries. He'd been assured his brother had been given something for the headache and was in no immediate danger.

"When can we leave?" Sam asked as soon as the nurse had walked out the door. He started pulling at the oxygen mask.

"Leave that alone," Dean said, wishing he was close enough to smack his brother's hand away from the mask.

Sam ignored the instruction to leave the mask alone and dropped it on the bed next to him.

"Dude, put the damn mask back on."

"Don't need it."

Dean rolled his eyes and dropped the subject of the oxygen mask. If alarms started blaring, Sam could face the wrath of the nurses on his own.

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Did they say when we can leave?" His teeth were chattering. "No one tells me  _anything_."

"We're not going anywhere until you thaw out."

"So spring, then?"

Dean laughed. "It better not take that long."

Sam fought the wires and tubing to twist onto his side. He pulled the blanket up almost to cover his head, his eyes slipping closed as he mumbled, "I'm never going to feel warm again."

Since he pretty much felt the same way, Dean didn't argue the point. He tried to settle a little more comfortably in the bed without jarring his leg and closed his own eyes. Maybe they could both get some sleep now.

"What are we gonna do about the hunt?"

_So much for sleeping_.

Dean sighed and peeled his eyes open. "We're not doing anything about it. Ghosty will still be there tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Christmas." Sam's eyes were still closed and he sounded more asleep than awake.

"I know."

"When's Dad going to get here?"

"He wasn't sure." Dean glanced at their phones. One of the nurses had plugged the phones in and set them on a bedside table between them. "Depends on the roads."

"He shouldn't be driving. What if…"

"He's careful," Dean interrupted.

"So are you." Sam managed to get his eyes open for a brief moment.

Visions of the car spinning out and crashing into a ditch ran through his mind. Sam had a good point, but Dean just said, "He'll be fine."

Sam sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead.

"Stop worrying about everything and go to sleep." Dean yawned, the mere idea of sleep sounding amazing.

"I don't think I can sleep here."

Never mind he looked like he was one deep breath from falling asleep.

Dean fumbled for the TV remote and said, "If you're not gonna sleep, then I'm finding a cheesy Christmas movie. Maybe I can get a nurse to bring us some popcorn."

"Sounds great." Sam's tone and the way he had his hand over his eyes were the opposite of enthusiastic.

Flipping through the channels, Dean found what looked like a cheesy Christmas movie; guaranteed to make sentimentalists everywhere, well,  _sentimental._ At least it would provide a distraction. Right now, they both needed one. Nothing like a little Christmas cheer to help them forget about the horrendous ordeal they'd gone through.

Sam was asleep before the opening credits were over.

Dean was snoring two minutes later.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, the boys are finally reunited!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this lighter chapter (esp since we have the season finale to look forward to tomorrow and i'm sure it won't be light lol). I'm both excited and terrified about the episode, but can't wait to watch it!
> 
> Thanks for reading and thanks for all the continued support and encouragement as this story has wound up taking a hundred times longer than I had ever intended. :)
> 
> Have a great day!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Sorry again for long wait on this chapter. Thank you all for your patience and encouragement and kind notes for the last chapter! This has been a very long process. I'm starting to feel like I'm getting back in the groove, but it's definitely been a rough six months or so of not writing well. I'm finally feeling excited about writing again and looking forward to it and the words are flowing a lot better these past couple weeks.
> 
> We may all be celebrating Christmas in July by the time i finish this story, but it looks like it will in fact be completed before December 25th lol!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter!

Dean woke up in time to see the last thirty seconds of the movie.

Staring blearily at the tv, he struggled to sort out the details of where the hell he was. He hadn't slept long, but he'd slept hard and it took a few seconds before he remembered what had brought him to the not so comfortable hospital bed he was lying in. The nap had done little to refresh him; just made him so much more aware of the fatigue weighing him down.

Memory returned as he glanced around the room and saw his brother in the bed next to him.

Sam was still cocooned in blankets, still asleep.

Yawning, Dean rubbed his eyes, freezing when even that small movement made his leg scream in pain.

He pressed his hand to his leg, gritting his teeth against the sharp throb. Glaring at the injured appendage didn't do anything for the pain, but it gave him a place to channel his frustration. Of all the stupid things to have done. Falling on a rock. Idiotic. He squeezed his thigh tighter, not that it made his leg hurt any less. It was elevated on pillows and topped with an ice pack. Ironic since they were going to all the trouble to thaw him out in the first place.

Glaring, thinking, and massaging weren't doing anything to temper the throbbing in his leg.

It had to be time for the next round of painkillers. It just had to be. Trying not to move anything but his hand, he patted down the blankets, searching for the call light. Even that much exertion left him exhausted and hurting. Great as more sleep sounded, there was no way he'd be able to fall back to sleep with his leg throbbing the way it was. So he hit the button.

It didn't take long for a nurse to arrive and fifteen minutes later, he was medicated and eagerly awaiting pain-free bliss. And Sam was still asleep. He'd stirred a bit when the nurse had been in the room, but stilled as soon as the room had gone quiet again.

Dean turned his attention back to the tv. The opening credits were rolling on the next cheesy Christmas movie that he had absolutely no interest in, but he didn't turn it off. Staring at an inane movie was the next best thing to pretending everything was just fine. Pretending wasn't easy considering the situation.

For a few minutes, the movie held about a quarter of his attention. Another quarter of his attention was spent wondering where their dad was and the rest of his mind was doing nothing but worrying about his brother. It was probably a waste of his brain cells considering Sam seemed to be sleeping quite comfortably in the bed next to him. Regardless, it was his default setting, so he didn't bother trying to stop worrying.

An hour later and half of his brain was asleep while the remaining half was divided between worry for his dad and brother and trying to keep up with the plot of the movie. Why he was bothering to even  _try_ he didn't know. Going all the way to sleep sounded like the best plan ever, but the lingering ache in his leg ensured that he wasn't going to be able to fall asleep no matter how tired he was. So he focused on the Christmas movie. Something with a lot more action and a whole lot less sentimentality would have been preferable, but even changing the channel sounded like too much work.

He couldn't help but check the time on the clock every few minutes. It had been hours since he'd talked to Dad. Hours. Anything could have happened. Shifting carefully, he bit back a pained groan as he stretched out to grab his phone off the bedside table.

"Dad?"

"What?" Deans fingers closed around the phone and he pulled his arm back. Frowning at his brother, he repeated, "What?"

"Did Dad call?" Sam's eyes were barely open.

"No. I was going to call him. Did I wake you up?"

"No." Easing a hand out from under the blankets Sam rubbed his eyes.

"You ok?"

"Yeah." Sam tucked his hand back under the blankets. "Call him."

Dean did. He turned on speakerphone and together they listened to it ring. It went to voicemail, something he hadn't been prepared for even though he should have been. He croaked out some sort of lame message, then hung up.

"He's fine," Dean said because they both needed to hear it. Needed to believe it.

Sam wasn't staring at him like he knew he'd been fed a line of crap. He was staring at him like he was really worried. Dean was trying to come up with his next round of completely baseless reassurance when his phone rang.

They both flinched. Sam's eyes widened and Dean fumbled to answer the call.

"Dad?" He managed to turn the speaker on with fingers that were shaking more than he wanted his brother to see.

" _Dean._ "

His sigh of relief was echoed by his brother.

"I _s everything alright?"_

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice a little steadier than his fingers. Not by much. "Just wanted to see…"  _if you were still alive "..._ how things were going."

" _Slowly."_ He sounded aggravated. " _The roads are terrible."_

"Really? We hadn't noticed." Grinning at Sam's surprised laugh, Dean said, "Well don't rush and wind up in a ditch or something. We're just chilling out and watching Christmas movies to pass the time."

" _Die Hard?"_ Dad asked, amusement in his tone.

"Hallmark."

This time both Sam and Dad laughed.

" _At least you're not watching_ _The Grinch._ "

"Don't need to when I've got the real, live thing for a brother." Dean grinned.

Sam glared.

" _It's getting late. You both should be trying to get some sleep."_

Get some sleep because there were things to be done. As if he could have forgotten. They had a hunt ahead of them yet. A chill rushed over him at the mere thought of being outside in the cold again.

" _I'm still a few hours away. If I'm lucky,"_ Dad continued, the sound of windshield wipers steady in the background. " _Signal is in and out. Surprised this call even went through. Try to get some sleep._ "

"We will," Dean said, even though he wasn't sure either of them stood a chance of getting any more sleep.

" _Alright. I'll see you soon."_

The call cut out before Dean could reply. Sighing, he dropped the phone. Dad was fine. So far, anyway.

Sam sighed, too, and said, "The movie sucked. I want the remote. You're not picking out another movie until June."

"June, huh?" Dean laughed. "Good luck with that. Remote privileges belong with the eldest son of Winchester. The more handsome son of Winchester. The smarter son of Winchester."

"The obnoxiously arrogant son of Winchester, you mean."

"Hallmark movies for the rest of your life, little brother." Dean turned the volume up. "Nothing but Hallmark movies."

He grinned at Sam's muttered  _I hate you._ Cheesy movie or not, it was worth it to distract them both from things like hospitals and car crashes. A peek to his right showed that Sam had pulled the covers over his head. Avoidance at its best.

Dean turned the volume down and watched the saptastic movie until he fell asleep.

At some point, he tuned in to the fact that there was a conversation nearby. Sam's voice was soft but still enough to pull Dean from sleep. Not all the way invested in being awake yet, Dean didn't open his eyes. Sam hadn't called for him and didn't sound distressed, which was good. Even so, Dean was mildly irritated to have his post-saptastic-movie sleep interrupted.

Then he started listening to what Sam was saying, and the annoyance faded.

"I don't think he's going to be able to walk that far."

There was a long silence, then Sam sighed heavily and started talking again. Dean could only hear half of the conversation because his brother was evidently talking on the phone. With Dad.

"Yes, sir. I have it in my notebook with all the details... I know...No, we didn't take everything out of the trunk...I can find out...I can look it up and when you get here we can get the rest of it out of the car."

Dean gritted his teeth. This time it wasn't against the pain, but against the realization that Dad was talking to Sam about the hunt.

"I will. Ok."

There was a long pause and Dean was almost ready to cut in.

"Dad how soon will you…" Sam trailed off. Another sigh. "Ok. I know...Yeah, we're doing ok...No, he's sleeping...I think so. I mean, he's been in a lot of pain."

Dean almost interjected to counter that assertion, but didn't.

"Ok, I will." Another pause, then a slightly surprised, "Thanks, Dad. We...we'll see you soon."

Dean glanced over in time to see Sam drop the phone on the bed next to him.

"I didn't hear the phone ring," Dean said, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"It didn't."

_Huh. So Sam was the one to make the call._

"Sorry I woke you up," Sam said, shifting onto his side and squishing the pillow until it was to his liking.

"No big deal." Dean waved a hand. "Time's it?"

"Eleven."

"You thawing out over there?" Dean pushed himself upright a little more in the bed, straining to get a good look at his brother in the dim light.

Sam nodded even though he was still buried under the blankets.

Dean snorted. "Whatever. I'm still cold. And still waiting on some hot chocolate."

"They'll bring you some if you want." Sam pointed a finger at the bedside table next to him.

"Coffee?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes at the cup.

"They said no. It's hot chocolate."

Hot chocolate sounded pretty good, actually. He was about to reach for the button to call for the nurse when he realized there was more on the table then just the cup.

"What is that?" he asked, pointing at the crumpled wrappers.

"Uh...some candy."

"Candy? How'd you get candy?"

"Some nurse. Because it's Christmas." Sam sounded annoyed.

Christmas. Oh. Yeah.

"So did you eat it all?" Dean blurted out. Denial. That was the way to go. Ignore the obvious. Christmas in an ER. Good times.

"Yes. I ate it all. You snooze you lose."

Dean lifted his head a bit more and stared pointedly at a festively packaged candy bar sitting next to the empty wrappers.

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed the table closer.

"You sure?"

"Take it before I change my mind."

Dean took it then complained, "Why did the nurse give you candy? No one gave me candy."

"I just did."

"Not the point."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "And the point would be what?"

"Why are you awake?"

"So I can eat the Christmas candy."

"Hilarious." Dean rolled his eyes. Unwrapping the candy bar, he revised his earlier question. "How long have you been up?"

"Dunno. Awhile. What're we gonna do?"

"About?" Dean asked, his mouth half full of candy bar.

"About this." Sam waved a hand around the room, then yanked the blanket back up over himself. "About the hunt. About the car. About-"

"No wonder you're awake." Dean shook his head. He licked a sticky finger, then said, "Why are you worrying about all of that? You're supposed to be sleeping."

"I can't sleep."

"Because you're worrying."

Sam sighed heavily for what had to have been the tenth time in as many minutes and it both annoyed and worried Dean.

"You don't need to be worrying about anything, Sammy. We're fine and so is Dad. He's going to figure out what to do about the Impala and we're not doing the hunt till you're warmer than a popsicle."

"He was asking me about the hunt," Sam countered. He paused for a few seconds, then added, "If I was warmer than a popsicle, I would be a melted puddle."

"Literalist. And I don't care if he was asking you about the hunt." Actually, he did care. He cared a whole lot. It made him angry. Wasn't it enough that they were in a hospital? Dad wasn't even here yet and he was pressuring Sam about the hunt. Dean unclenched the fist he'd tightened around his candy bar and said, "He can do the hunt by himself."

Sam's eyes widened.

Maybe it had come out a bit more harsh and bitter than he'd intended, but it was the truth. Dad  _could_ do the hunt by himself. And he would be doing it by himself unless he wanted to wait for the week it was going to take for Sam to thaw out.

"I can help him with it, Dean. You aren't going to be able to walk-"

"I can walk. And if you think you're going outside anytime soon, you're insane." The candy bar was sweet, but Dean was feeling anything but. "There is no freakin' way you're going to be out hunting. With or without me. You almost died of hypothermia. Did you somehow forgot you're lying in a hospital bed with warmed IV fluids running through your veins?"

Sam stared pointedly at the IV pump still filling Dean's own veins with toasty warm fluids.

"I'm warmer than you are." On occasion he could be as childish as his brother so often insisted he was.

" _I_  can walk." Sam was back to that argument.

"I can walk, too."

"Sure you can. Crying like a baby with crutches and a limp, maybe. Maybe the ghost will pity your sorry ass and move on without us even having to light his bones."

"You're hysterical." Dean crumpled the candy bar wrapper and pitched it at his brother. It fluttered to the floor. "I'm fine."

Sam snorted. "I'm more hysterical than you are fine."

Dean sighed and sank back into his pillow, staring up at the pristine white of the ceiling.

He was tired. Tired and cold and in pain. Nothing he hadn't been for the past however many hours, but somehow everything seemed worse right now. In a hospital on Christmas Eve with Dad on his way and already pressing for details on the hunt.

So much for Christmas.

* * *

It hadn't taken long for Dean's breathing to deepen and even out. He was asleep again. It hadn't taken more than a few minutes of silence which meant he needed it.

Sam rolled back over and glanced at his brother.

He was relaxed against the pillow, blanket pulled to his chin. If it wasn't for the fact they were in a hospital room, Sam would have been tempted to tease his brother for looking like a three year old who had just been tucked in for the night.

In the dim light, he could just barely see the darkness under his brother's eyes; evidence of the hard night and day he'd endured. Regardless of the doctor's report of his condition, it was clear that Dean had suffered significantly from their trek to civilization. He didn't look like himself at all. The memory of him lying in the snow sprang unbidden to Sam's mind and the pulse-pounding fear of that moment crept up over him again.

" _...you're...you're gonna have to keep going. You...you gotta find help."_

Different scenarios of what could have happened if he had done what Dean had wanted him to do flashed through his mind; every single one of them bad. It didn't bear thinking about, but, as with all nightmares, the thought wouldn't leave him alone. No matter which scenario he considered, it always ended up with one or both of them dead in the snow.

He shook his head to clear the awful images. The movement  _hurt_ but that was fine because the pain gave him something to concentrate on that wasn't death. Shifting, he tried to find a comfortable position, but failed entirely. He was sore and cold and doing exactly what Dean had told him not to.

Worrying.

After a moment, he muted the tv and started channel hopping. It always seemed to work as a distraction for his brother and right now, Sam was definitely in the mood for some distraction. He skipped past the cheesy Christmas movies that Dean for some incomprehensible reason found so diverting. A moderately interesting action movie featuring a lot of shooting and a lack of plot did what he needed it to. For a few minutes, anyway.

A nurse came in to do her rounds during a particularly enthusiastic fist fight. She gave him a professionally disapproving look and did her best to mother him into turning off the violence and going to sleep like a good little boy. Less polite than on a good day, he told her to mind her own business.

He probably wouldn't be getting anymore candy.

Dean slept through her visit which told Sam exactly how good the pain medication was. At least he was getting some rest. Sam sighed, rubbing his eyes. It was the middle of the night and he was tired but there was no way he would be able to sleep.

Pushing himself upright, a shiver ran through him and the headache doubled. Staying still was a much better idea. It was the most sensible, most logical thing to do. Instead, newly freed from the bondage of an IV, he dug through his backpack and got dressed. Even with two shirts, a sweatshirt and his coat, the chill was deep and had him missing the warm blankets.

Instead of giving in to the temptation, he shoved his hands into his pockets. For a long moment, he watched his brother sleep. The lines of pain were eased and he wasn't shivering. Improvement, slow as it was. His leg was still elevated on the pillow and Sam rested a featherlight hand on Dean's ankle.

He could have died. Could have died and they hadn't even been on a hunt. It made everything seem worse somehow. They weren't safe on a hunt, they weren't safe  _not_ on a hunt. Safe was a concept he was beginning to lose touch with. Maybe it was better this way. Can't mourn for something you never really had in the first place.

Sam slid his hand back into his pocket and turned away.

Dean was safe enough and right now safe enough was going to have to count. Dean also had his cell phone in his hand and that was good too because when he woke up and found Sam gone, the phone would be the first thing he'd reach for. The second thing would be his jeans.

_Good luck getting them on over the swelling._ Sam almost smiled at the thought of his brother's chagrined expression when he realized he'd be wearing nothing but sweatpants for the near future. He also wouldn't be hunting in the near future, not if Sam had anything to say about it. Dad was already pushing for more details. Pushing for a plan Sam had barely begun to work on before they'd wound up in a ditch. He should've spent more time on it instead of worrying about his grades so much.

Grades weren't going to keep any of them alive.

Turning away from his brother, Sam headed for the hall. Evading the night shift wasn't complicated. Night shift was always understaffed and usually overworked. An overhead page several minutes ago had announced the arrival of a heart attack victim and, judging by the activity down the hall, the staff would be tied up for awhile.

He turned away and walked around a corner. Out of sight. He was in no real hurry although it would be best to be back before his brother woke up. Nurses screaming at him he could ignore. Dean would be a different story.

He found the front desk after only a few minutes of wandering. The hospital was cold and it took all his self-control to keep his teeth from chattering while he spoke to the girl at the desk.

"Do you have a computer I can use?"

The girl glanced up from a paperback. She didn't look much older than Dean. Probably a college student on her Christmas break trying to earn some extra cash. She seemed bored, but her expression immediately shifted to concern.

"Do you need help?" she asked, marking her place as she set the paperback down.

"No. I need a computer."

One eyebrow rose as she looked him up and down. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for a computer." Patience was usually his virtue, not Dean's, but right now he didn't feel patient at all. "Is there one I can use?"

"Are you here with someone?"

"My brother's under observation in the ER. I need a computer."

"There's a courtesy computer in the front lounge next to the gift shop."

She was still assessing him and it was getting more difficult to keep from shivering. His legs weren't very steady either and he rested an elbow on the desk as he asked, "Which direction?"

"To the left. Is it really that important? You don't look too good."

Sam ignored her and turned away. He didn't have time to waste. The longer he was away, the more likely it was that Dean would wake up and find him gone. There was also the little issue of being able to stay upright. He was leaning against the wall as he walked and beginning to think his plan was as flawed and stupid as Dean was no doubt going to say it was when he found out.

Pushing the thought aside, he gave in to a vicious bout of shivering now that he wasn't being observed by a nosy college student. A few minutes longer and he found the lounge. The area was deserted, just like the hallway had been. There were advantages to wandering a hospital in the dead of night.

He slumped gratefully into the chair in front of the computer and nudged the mouse. The screen lit up and he squeezed his eyes closed against the brightness. Headache spiking sharply, he pressed a fist to the side of his head. A trace of jealousy ran through him. What he wouldn't give for a dose of whatever Dean was getting for the pain. The gift shop was closed, of course, or he would've been willing to make do with a few packs of Tylenol.

Trying to shove his fingers through his own skull was going to have to do for the time being.

By the time he finished, he had the information Dad had been asking about. He also had a pounding head, a flip flopping stomach, and a powerful desire to be under a hundred warm blankets in the bed next to his brother. Hands shaking, he folded the printouts into a pocket, then pushed himself to his feet; every movement like swimming through molasses.

In hindsight, this had been a bad decision. Well, in all honesty, it had been a bad decision in foresight, too. Snorting, he kept a hand against the wall as he walked as fast as he could which wasn't very fast at all. He'd been gone too long. Dean had to be sleeping well on those painkillers if he hadn't awakened and found him missing yet.

The thought wasn't as comforting as it should have been.

Soft music filled the hall from somewhere ahead. Edging toward the open door where the music was coming from, Sam caught sight of Christmas lights. It was the hospital chapel and it was decorated in bright lights and a huge Christmas tree stood to one side. A handful of people sat in scattered groups, singing quietly to  _Silent Night._

Midnight. A midnight Christmas Eve service.

It was almost enough to send him running the opposite direction. If he had been capable of running, that is. Instead, the lure of sitting down even for a few minutes drew him into the room. Sliding into the back row was easy and no one said anything or came near him.

The pine scent from the tree crowded out the bleach and sterility of the hospital and he relaxed into a chair that probably wouldn't be comfortable on a normal day. Right now, it was better than a plush recliner in the nicest furniture store. The lights blurred as his eyes slid half closed and he rested his head back against the wall.

The room was warm and smelled like Christmas and the soft singing could have put him to sleep, but he refused to let it. He'd catch his breath. Tame the headache. Regain the willpower to walk back to the room.

So he focused on the singing and the people around him.

In between the singing, people talked about their families and their Christmas memories. There were warm and fuzzy stories of happy Christmas mornings and present exchanges. Bittersweet tales of family separations. Traditions and surprises. Happiness and sadness. Ordinary and extraordinary.

Nothing so different than every Christmas he'd experienced in his life.

_Huh._

Maybe he'd been looking at things all wrong. Maybe Dean wasn't so far off by being content with a dinner and a quiet night just the three of them. Maybe he wasn't settling like Sam had always thought he was. Sam had never thought Christmas was all about the presents or fancy decorations and festive gatherings, but he'd thought it was more.

And it  _was_  more.

It was family and being alive and being thankful and good and bad and flawed and imperfect and complicated and simple.

Dean had asked him what he'd wanted for Christmas and now he had an answer.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the singing and smiled.

* * *

It was half past midnight when John walked through the doors of the hospital.

The long drive had seemed ten times longer after his conversation with Sam. When he'd talked to both of the boys, they'd sounded ok. Sam calling him back not long after had been more concerning. It had given him a better idea of the severity of Dean's injury; the one Dean had done his best to downplay.

The conversation had also given him new cause to worry about both his sons. Because Sam had been way too quick to take over the conversation regarding the hunt. John hated himself more than a little for bringing the hunt up. He'd only intended to get a feel for what Sam's preliminary research had revealed, not get into a long discussion about the hunt.

Making his way through the quiet, deserted hallways gave him time to regret a lot of things.

The Christmas music quietly playing somewhere ahead gave him more to regret, but there was no time for that. Walking past the room where the music was playing, he slowed his steps and glanced into a small hospital chapel. It was decorated for Christmas and a handful of people were singing carols to the accompaniment of a slightly out of tune piano.

He paused for a moment, enjoying the music. Life had been this simple once. Christmas music and cheerful decorations. Family and friends. Presents and cookies and joy. It had been so long since he'd felt anything resembling joy.

He stared at the Christmas tree in the corner of the room for a few seconds, thinking of the last Christmas with Mary. It had been a beautiful day. Shaking his head to clear the nostalgia, he ran a hand over his face. With a last glance at the room, he started to move forward again.

He made it two steps before turning around and rushing back. A few people glanced his way as he burst into the chapel, but he didn't care. The only thing he cared about was the fact that his youngest son was sitting in the last row, hands in his pockets, head tilted against the wall, apparently sound asleep.

An older gentleman was sitting a couple seats away and smiled as John approached. Maybe the panic in his soul showed on his face because the man's expression changed to one of understanding and empathy.

"He came in about twenty minutes ago," the man said quietly. "Looked like he needed the sleep so I just kept an eye on him."

"Thank you." John's mouth was dry as he studied his son.

Sam's face was bruised a bit more significantly than anyone had bothered to share with him. A shade too pale, he seemed comfortable, but it wasn't enough. The doctor had planned to keep them both overnight which meant Sam had done his own discharging and wasn't where he was supposed to be.

John sat down next to his son and took a moment to once more breathe in the fact that his boys were alive. It crossed his mind that he should be concerned about how Sam had managed to escape his brother's undoubtably close observation. One thing at a time, though.

Resting a hand on Sam's shoulder, he said, "Sammy?"

Usually that would have been enough to wake either of the boys, but not tonight. Tonight it took three more calls and a gentle shake before Sam opened his eyes. When he did, he didn't snap to instant awareness. It was more of a groggy half-awareness at best.

"Hey, Sam." John smiled, waiting for recognition to sink in.

"Dad?" Still half-asleep, Sam tilted his head slightly and frowned.

"It's me."

Sam stared at him like he wasn't completely convinced, then said, "We're at the hospital."

"Yes, we are. But you're not where you're supposed to be."

"I…" Sam's voice trailed off as he blearily gazed around the chapel.

"Do the nurses even know you left the room?"

"Uh…"

"Does  _Dean_ know?"

Sam shook his head, winced, then said, "Dean would kill me."

"Unlikely." John squeezed his shoulder. "But how about we get back there so we don't have to find out."

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"When...you got here." Sam sat up a bit, his eyes widening like maybe he was only just now fully awake. "You're here."

"Got here as fast as I could, which wasn't very fast considering the roads." John tugged on his arm. "Come on. You need some sleep."

"I found the…" His voice trailed off as he dug through his pockets and presented some crumpled papers.

John took them, heart heavy and shoved them into his own pocket. Pulling Sam to his feet was a bit of a process as he seemed quite content to fall back to sleep right where he was sitting. After some poking and prodding, though, he was on his feet. John kept a grip on his arm as he led him from the chapel.

"Which way?" he asked, standing in the hallway and looking in both directions.

Sam yawned, then waved a hand and started stumbling forward. He said, "The car's in a ditch."

"I know. I'll figure that out later. How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

John could all too well understand. He was tired, too. Following Sam's not quite steady lead, he asked, "How's Dean?"

"Sleeping. They gave him some good drugs." Sam grinned, looking a little more awake. "I'd never have made it out of bed if he wasn't doped up."

Returning the smile, John said, "You shouldn't have gone anywhere."

"Couldn't sleep." Sam yawned again. He pointed to the right and they turned the corner.

"Well, you're going to sleep now."

Sam nodded and pointed again. This time to a room. He whispered, "Don't tell him, ok?"

"If you can make it under the covers without waking your brother up, it will be our little secret." John patted his shoulder. "If not, you're on your own."

They paused in the doorway and John took in the sight of his eldest, sleeping soundly. His leg was elevated on a pile of pillows but he looked pain-free for the moment at least. Relief flooded through John at the sight.

All the long hours waiting for a phone call. Wondering if the boys were ok. The fear was disappearing like snowflakes drifting away on a warm breeze. Even though he'd had the opportunity to speak with them earlier, there was  _nothing_ like being able to see them with his own eyes.

Sam was starting to edge toward the bed, but John pulled him into a hug. He closed his eyes against the threat of emotion when Sam hugged him back.

"I'm glad you're here, Dad," Sam whispered.

"I am, too." Fighting to regain control, John eased back and said, "Now how about you get into bed so your brother doesn't have to chew us both out?"

Sam smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. He kicked off his boots, but pulled the covers over himself, coat and all. He glanced at his brother for a moment before meeting John's gaze once more. Already more asleep than awake, he mumbled, "It's Christmas."

"Yes it is." John stepped closer and pulled the blanket up a little higher. "Merry Christmas, Sammy."

"Merry Christmas."

John watched him fall asleep almost immediately; a smile on his face.

Straightening, John crossed the small space between the beds. He smiled a little at the sight of a pile of candy wrappers on the bedside table, but as his gaze settled on Dean, the smile faded.

Up close, John could see the evidence of just how much stress his eldest had endured. Dean was sleeping hard and deeply - a fact which would have been more encouraging had John not known it was only coming courtesy of pain medication. Very high potency pain medication that Dean had evidently agreed to take. It told John everything he needed to know about just how much his son had been hurting. Gently, he rested a hand on Dean's chest, feeling the slow, easy breaths. The regular heartbeat.

Though his relief remained as bright as the lights on the chapel's Christmas tree, the reality of just how much both of his sons had suffered was hitting home with a vengeance.

Quietly, he stepped away from the bed before he woke Dean. He stood back a few feet and watched his boys sleep. Sliding his hands into his pockets, paper crinkled against his fingers and he thought about the hunt that had brought them here. The hunt that had nearly cost him everything he held dear.

He squeezed his hand around the papers, then slumped into the recliner next to the window and buried his face in his hands.

_tbc..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. They're all reunited and alive and mostly in one piece! ;) More to come!
> 
> Have a wonderful weekend!


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